A Single Strand Unraveled
by BuJyo
Summary: Will the partnership survive Mary's escape to Mexico? Marshall takes them on a road of choices and hard decisions. Rated T for language and adult situations. Please enjoy ;
1. the hammer falls

***** Actions have consequences and decisions take time. How *would* Marshall react to Mary's trip to Mexico...and what will they learn about each other as Mary is forced to make a decision?*****

***** This would not exist without the undending support of three wonderful ladies: Roar526, Rj_lupins_kat and DispatchVampire. I cannot thank you guys enough! I have the BEST friends!*****

***** it's fiction...don't sue. Oh, and I will update every other day...RL is busy!*****

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It's been one week since you looked at me  
Dropped your arms to your sides  
and said "I'm sorry"  
Five days since I laughed at you and said  
"You just did just what I thought you were gonna do"  
Three days since the living room  
We realized we're both to blame,  
but what could we do?  
Yesterday you just smiled at me  
Cause it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry

It'll still be two days till we say we're sorry  
It'll still be two days till we say we're sorry

- One Week, Barenaked Ladies

* * *

Special Agent Michael Faber was more than an easily ignored roll in the hay on a distant beach. He was the drop in the bucket of emotional betrayal that finally sent the water flowing over the edge to make a mess of everything. The irritating mosquito in a dark room that kept you awake all night. Impossible to ignore and a harbinger of certain physical discomfort; sure to inflict that small but significant wound to make one wary of the instrument that dealt it.

Mary knew it was a mistake exactly twenty-one seconds before she made the phone call. She berated herself and mentally howled as her willfully blind libido beat her conscience into submission, and the weak whimpers of good sense that taunted her for the next fourteen days were drowned out by liberal amounts of alcohol. Marshall's expression of loss and hurt haunted her every night as the tropical breeze ruffled the sheets on the end of the bed. An expression she had come to dread, yet could not, for the life of her, avoid provoking with a careless word or dismissing gesture even as she willed herself to stop.

_It was better this way. He doesn't deserve to be brought down to my level. I just needed a good lay._ She tried to rationalize, and the thoughts smirked at her as they meandered through her brain.

_You're a fucking idiot_. That conclusion smiled a full, beaming grin of triumph every time.

It grinned at her seven days and six hours after Faber arrived when she found a pair of bikini bottoms in the room that weren't hers. Chuckled in amusement as he righteously denied any wrongdoing yet again the next day. Howled in delight at her furious and humiliated tears as she threw his belongings off the balcony and onto the beach below eight hours later. Her phone remained silent and her bed remained empty until she wearily checked out five days later, trudging to the shuttle while formulating appropriate groveling techniques in her mind.

Marshall had learned of the tryst nine hours and thirty-seven minutes after Mary left for Mexico. He had been slowly unraveling himself from the twisted knot he was in after she left the office three days prior. Silently. No goodbye. He had given her the leave, as he always did, knowing Mary needed time to think. Think about thinking. Hopefully think about a man who prodded her until she had to stop and ruminate in order to keep from toppling. Marshall had thought Mexico was a good idea. He thought the text message from Special Agent Sam Westfall of the Denver office was a sick joke.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. Too much to forget; to sweep under a rug that no longer touched the floor due to the ever increasing pile of insults accumulating beneath it. Too much to hide behind a carefully pasted on countenance of blasé indifference and bravado while he went about his everyday routine. But not enough to call it irreparable and leave. Not enough to sever the ties of trust, friendship and…love…that had woven them together over the years. He wouldn't go, but he wasn't going to let it slide this time. There was going to be a call to the carpet before the status quo could be reestablished, and he would know where he stood.

Michael Faber was more than another insult that would eat away at a friendship. He had chewed through yet one more thread of the string holding aloft a Sword of Damocles. The partnership lay precariously exposed.

/\\\/\\\/\\\/

'Awkward' would be too kind of an adjective to describe Mary's first week back. Marshall didn't ask her about her vacation, didn't ask about Faber, but yet she knew he knew. In fact, he didn't speak to her much outside of routine work-related conversations, random bouts of trivia or statements that would include her in banter between him and other office mates. Mary sensed a barely camouflaged disdain for her person and was loath to counter with her usual snark and sarcasm. A small ball of fear rattled around in her gut; a primal sense of being trapped on the edge of a cliff in which the wrong move would send her to her demise. She worried her thumb nail to a bloody stump and filled out her own paperwork. Marshall never flinched.

He watched her carefully the second week. She was subdued, pensive and she now had bandaids on three fingers due to a slow consumption of self. He didn't think she was sleeping well, but felt little desire to worry as he was doing no better. His head rested on the recliner back as often as it did the sheets on the bed; his nightly companion late night Sports Center instead of the hum of the ceiling fan. The strain of keeping her at arm's length affected his appetite as well as his circadian rhythm, and Marshall was tired. She was waiting for him to make the approach, but he was determined to wait. He had made his play…it was time for her to step up to the plate.

They were headed north on University that Friday afternoon, the hum of the tires loud with the radio turned down low. Mary was resting her head against the passenger side window, eyes tracking the small rivulets of rain slowly wending their way down the glass. She hadn't spoken since before they left; an agreement to stop for lunch between their witness visits. Marshall, incapable of remaining silent for silence's sake, was halfway through his lackluster explanation of the difference between virga and mist when Mary interrupted.

"You scared me," she stated softly, eyes still on the window.

Lecture forgotten, Marshall tuned into her quiet admission. He waited a few moments before countering to clarify.

"Today?"

She rolled her eyes over to him and set her jaw. "You know very well I'm not talking about today." Mary settled back in the seat a bit so she could see him in her periphery. "You scared me and I didn't know how to respond. I…overreacted."

Marshall waited. Mary remained silent and he pursed his lips with thought. The rain increased to a heavy shower.

"So," she shrugged, "don't you want to talk about it?"

"No." Quietly definitive.

She turned to study his profile. "'No' as in 'not today'? Or 'No' as is 'not ever'?" Her voice quavered just the slightest bit. "Because I'm giving you an opening here that may not occur again tomorrow."

Marshall bunched his toes in his boots in order to channel his irritation away from any visible tells. "'No' as in I don't want to talk about it. Can't give you a time table, Mary, and I'm not going to hash it out before I'm ready just to give you the satisfaction of getting it off your chest so you'll feel better."

Her jaw dropped slightly at the rebuke, not expecting the push back. Anger flared and she narrowed her eyes as she gripped the edge of her jacket. "So, you get to decide when we talk about it because you think you were the wounded party? We both took a hit, Marshall."

"You took the bullet willingly, Mary. I didn't get a chance to dodge. Don't push me on this." He never looked at her.

Mary watched the wipers try to keep up with the myriad of droplets and realized the small ball of fear had become a larger lump. She swallowed and blew out a slow breath as she fought back tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, leaning back over to the window.

"I know," he conceded. It was a start.

* * *

***** Well, would you like to read more? You know what I need...REVIEWS! :) I'd like to take you on a little journey...there may be some zest at the end, so isn't it worth the chance? *****


	2. A little breathing room

***** Your response was amazing! WOW! Thank you so much :) *****

***** Now it comes down to the dance. The give and take without giving in. Marshall opens the door, but Mary won't be able to just slip through. He has plans for her! *******

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**

_**I can't live this life**_  
_**Without you by my side**_  
_**I need you to survive**_

_**So stay with me**_  
_**You look in my eyes and I'm screaming inside that I'm sorry.**_

_**And you forgive me again**_  
_**You're my one true friend**_  
_**And I never meant to hurt you**_

_**- Forgive, Evanescence**_

* * *

Marshall set the cup of coffee on her desk the following Wednesday, fingers lingering around the Styrofoam until she stopped typing to look up at him.

"Been trying to kick the Kaldi's habit for a couple of weeks now, but there's just something in those beans…." he shrugged and grimaced apologetically.

He had spent a long overdue, four day weekend in Santa Fe, leaving the cares and worries of Albuquerque behind for the solitude and fresh air of the higher mountains. Hoped to clear his mind as well as his lungs. Breathe and think. He thought about a lot of things…too many things…not enough things. Thought about the fact that maybe thinking was not the way to approach the current riptide carving into his relationship with Mary. That maybe trying to swim back to shore was the exact wrong way to regain his footing, and he should close his eyes and allow the current to take him out past the danger zone before plotting a course for dry land. Avoid tiring himself out and realize that the ocean often provided the best course of action if you just let yourself follow its lead.

His relationship with Mary often looked calm on the surface. Status quo. Steady. But the undercurrents ran deep and were often fraught with peril. Sudden drop offs. Whirlpools. Unexpected eddies. He could flail about and let her whip him into a frenzy, or he could just wait her out. She would seek him again, he knew. Like a high tide seeks an apprehensive swimmer; lapping at their toes gently and convincing them it was safe to venture in.

"_Just make sure to put on your life jacket_," he had murmured to himself with a chuckle. He wouldn't forget that gear this time.

The drive back to Albuquerque was made with a clear head. The friendship was certainly worth salvaging, and he would open the door to that path, but his expectations were upped a notch. He wanted more. So here he stood, supplicating caffeinated beverage in hand.

Mary recognized the peace offering for what it was, but took a moment to reach for a feeling. Anger? Relief? Indifference? Giddy joy? She didn't like to practice reconciliation on other's terms, preferring to lay her grievances on the table and let those who cared pick through them without having to bother with the details. But this was Marshall. This was her friend whose absence in the last few weeks had cost her uncounted hours of sleep and six pounds.

She took the coffee cup, despite the uncomfortable gurgle in her belly, fingers brushing her partner's in thanks during the passing. "And here I thought my inability to properly alienate the cleaning staff was due to something lost in translation."

Marshall watched smile tightly as she quipped a reply. She looked tired. More than tired, actually. A bit faded around the edges, and he wondered how long she had been like that. In his determination to place her out of sight and out of mind, he worried he had missed something.

"You look a little rough. Been sleeping?" he asked casually; watched her response not so casually.

Mary huffed a rueful laugh. "Wow, you really know how to compliment a girl." She brought the coffee cup to her lips, smelled the aroma, and put it back on the desk with a grimace. Untouched. "Sleep has been a tad elusive. I seem to be suffering from my…vacation…in more ways than one."

It was a subtle dig he didn't miss. A reprimand. "Seems to be going around. Maybe we ought to share symptoms, come up with a treatment plan."

He wanted to talk. Wanted to fix things. She wasn't going to have to live in this limbo land of semi-abandonment for any longer and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Even the near certainty of painful emotional abrasions would not deter her from latching onto the faintest hope of repairing the only relationship that had ever mattered to her.

"Well, now, that could be embarrassing," Mary drawled with a half smile, "We might have to get a little personal, and I'd hate to step over the line and show you something you don't want to see."

"The things you don't want me to see are the things I have to see," Marshall replied softly, settling one hip onto her desk. "Otherwise, everything just festers because we don't treat the real problem. Things become septic…and die."

Mary winced and again went on the defensive. "Well, a good doctor would be able to see that coming and prevent it, wouldn't he?"

Marshall didn't take the bait. "A good doctor knows his limitations. He's not going to take a case he doesn't think is worth saving. But if the patient gives up, there's not much more he can do."

Ball back in her court…again. _Dammit_, thought Mary, _he's not going to roll over on this_. She picked at the sleeve on the coffee cup as she mulled over the metaphor.

"Are you going to manhandle it, or drink it?" Marshall asked, noting she had yet to take a sip.

Mary looked up in apology, "Probably the first one. I don't think my stomach is up to coffee just yet. We only just graduated to 7-Up yesterday." She caught his puzzled stare and continued, "I'm assuming my two weeks in the land of Montezuma was what caught up with me this past weekend."

"You were sick?" Marshall was bothered by the fact that he didn't know. He always knew when she was sick…the rare times she ever was.

"Like the proverbial dog, except no one was kind enough to put me out of my misery." Mary ran her hands through her hair before tying it up into a ponytail.

Stan walked through the door before Marshall could reply and pinned Mary with a glare.

"I told you to stay home." Looked at Marshall.

"Welcome back, Inspector. Don't get too close to your worse half, there. I don't need to be scraping you both off the floor."

Mary curled her lip at her boss. "I'm fine, Stan. Isolated incident that doesn't need to be mentioned. Ever." She emphasized the last word with a raised eyebrow.

Marshall looked between the two of them until Stan pointed his finger at Mary in warning before turning to enter his office.

"What was that about? What happened?" Marshall asked.

Mary busied herself with email. "You know how it can be when I'm pissy and you're not around to put out the fires that I light. I think Charlie is still hunkered down behind his desk licking his wounds."

He grunted a small chuckle at her admission of co-dependence, fairly sure he wasn't getting the whole story, but very sure she wasn't offering it any time soon. The morning wasn't getting any younger, and Marshall was sure his inbox was overflowing.

"Lunch at Garcia's?" he offered, straightening with a stretch.

Her fingers stilled over the keys. They had avoided the diner for a long while now…ever since the morning she left him sitting at the counter fuming. The green-around-the-gills feeling returned, and she swallowed carefully before answering.

"A greasy spoon that only holds memories of me behaving badly while my stomach still thinks it's on the Tilt o' Whirl? Hmmm…let me think. Pass?" She shot him a sideways glance before lowering her voice. "You know I'll grovel if I have to, asshole, but I'm not going to do it in public."

He wasn't sure what bothered him the most; the fact that he missed the implications of his choice, or that she thought he'd make her grovel…and that she would. "None of that was included in the invitation, Mare. Just lunch. Just us."

Mary set her jaw and continued to stare at the computer. Returning to his desk with a mental kick to his own ass, Marshall resigned himself to another morning of tense silence. _Wait her out_, he reminded himself. Ebb tide.

She rubbed her temples as he powered up the computer and began to jot down messages. Civility was nearly futile when she felt like crap, but if she didn't tape the olive branch back together she wasn't sure he'd extend another.

"Hey," she called to him; waited for him to look over. "Give me a few days to feel human again so I don't flay you alive for breathing. Dinner at my house Friday?" Mary saw the twinge of apprehension in his eyes. "Don't worry, Julia, you can cook."

"And I shall," he tipped an invisible hat as he eyed her coffee. "You gonna drink that?"

Mary smiled sweetly, picked up the coffee cup and slowly brought it to her mouth to lick the spout. Watching him. "Why? You want it?"

Marshall looked slightly queasy. "Charlie's dead, isn't he?"

Mary genuinely laughed for the first time in weeks.

* * *

***** She's still not off the hook, folks! They're both still lobbing subtle digs and the gloves haven't even been loosened yet! Please REVIEW to let me know your thoughts...*loves thoughts*...loves! *****


	3. cards on the table

***** Now they're going to have to get down to it. Marshall's making Mary work for it...and, as promised, calling her on her BS. A few more pieces woven back together. *****

* * *

**_What I learned I rejected but I believe again_**  
**_I will suffer the consequence of this inquisition_**  
**_If I jump in this fountain, will I be forgiven_**  
**_We all had our reasons to be there_**  
**_We all had a thing or two to learn_**  
**_We all needed something to cling to_**  
**_So we did_**

**_- Forgiven, Alanis Morissette_**

* * *

They sat in lounge chairs by the pool, beers in hand and shoes off. The sky had turned deep indigo, stars splattered across the firmament battling city glow for dominance. Mary remembered summer nights similar in Jersey as a small girl. She and Brandi chased lightning bugs across the sparse backyard with plans to catch enough of them to light their room from a jar. Remembered beating the tar out of George Sacovich when he made Brandi cry by peeling the abdomens off their glowing captives and sticking them to her forehead. She secretly repeated the gruesome experiment the next night, wondering how the organs continued to glow after detachment.

Turning her head now, she gazed at the contemplative profile of her partner. Marshall would know. He would sculpt the answer in a scientifically worded hodgepodge of fact and folklore, expounding upon the quirky facets of the subject until she begged him to stop or clobbered him with the nearest object. And it would stick. Another mystery of her universe mapped out and clarified by the man who taught her more in six years than a lifetime of torturous classroom experiences.

Mary had never felt evaluated until now. Had never expected to study or cram, or otherwise have to prove some advancement of self until returning from Mexico and facing the hurt in her friend's eyes. She was failing, and it had taken them both by surprise. She didn't think pop-quizzes were fair, though, and the current grading convention was sticking in her craw.

"If you don't blink, you're going to bore a hole into the side of my head and my brains will leak onto the pool deck," Marshall said softly, sipping his beer without looking at her.

"Could be the outcome I'm hoping for," she replied.

"That's nice," he sneered teasingly, "I shop and cook and the thanks I get is a mental trepanning by the woman I provide for?"

"I provide just fine for myself, numbnuts," she countered. "The store was on the way."

Dinner had been relaxed, but they both knew the hard part was to come. The reprieve was over and the reckoning had to begin. A cricket began to serenade them from the bushes and Marshall started to fold the label he had completely peeled off of his beer bottle. Mary knew he'd wait her out all night, and her nerves weren't going to take much more of the unknown. No more stalling. Time to throw herself onto the sacrificial altar; arms and legs akimbo with a fervent prayer for intervention.

"I'm not sure if you want me to grovel on my knees, but for right now I'm just gonna sit over here and talk because I'm not quite sure what I'm going to say or where this is going to go. I know I fucked up…we're fucked up…and I know that what you said in the office somehow precipitated this whole fuck up, but then I went and did what I did and didn't tell you what I did even though you knew it. And I know that I do that to you…do things that I should tell you about but don't, but then when I do and we don't talk about it…Well, then we have these arguments..." Mary heard the fumbled and rambling words and felt the sting of tears, but was powerless to stop. "What I'm trying to say is that what I do isn't always the way I should do things, but it's the way I think I should do things to keep from fucking things up - " Her words were cut off by Marshall's hand on her forearm. She stared at it.

"Mary, relax," he said gently, watching her. "You're worked up and trying to say everything at once. Take a deep breath and sort it out. I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere."

She trembled slightly under his palm, tension and worry palpable. He met her questioning gaze with a steady one. This was difficult for her, this offering of self, but he was determined to remain silent for the time being. It was too easy for her to react to his statements and turn the conversation to her advantage. He needed to hear what she had to say.

Mary closed her eyes and concentrated on a few slow breaths. She carefully pulled her arm out from under Marshall's hand, needing the distance. He sat back and she opened her eyes to stare at the smooth water in the pool. The underwater lights produced a palette of aquamarines that reflected off the slick tile at the edge. A water bug skated carelessly through the yellow into the blue.

"You said I took a bullet willingly," she began, clearing her throat as dryness consumed her mouth, "but that's only half true. I knew what I was doing was a mistake, but it seemed a better option than arming the weapons of mass destruction you dumped into my lap that Thursday afternoon." The water bug got bounced into the filter and she lost sight of it.

She went from unsettled rambling to words of insight that caused him to swallow with his own nervousness. He had assumed she had acted without thought, or at least with misunderstanding of what had been laid before her. Not so. Rehearsed rebukes were replaced with questions as the sting of rejection jolted him.

"Faber was a better option than what I was…offering?" he couldn't mask the hurt in his voice.

Mary sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're not listening."

"Explain it again, then. Use smaller words if you need to, because my brain is a bit stuck."

Pulling up her legs, Mary shoved her heels between the slats of the lounge chair and rested her forearms on her knees. Tried again. "I'm probably not the most honorable woman on the planet, and there are many who think I care nothing for those around me, but there are some things that even I refuse to wantonly destroy. Some people." She picked at her own fingers. "You offered me the means to do exactly that. To you. To introduce you to a…messy…you don't ever want to see. Walking away was by far the better option. For you. Faber was just a distraction. Something to keep me from thinking. You weren't supposed to find out." She felt wrung out. Raw. Exposed.

Marshall was silent for a few minutes as he carefully picked through emotions. Tried not to flounder and thrash as she jerked him about. He settled on unsettled…a mixture of anger and frustration that furrowed his brow.

"You have been required to, and are still required to, make decisions for many of those in your life. Your family, your witnesses. You're used to it…able to do it quickly even while weighing the multitude of options and debating the merits of your actions. But your jaded view of the world and those in it, including yourself, often leads you to make a seemingly altruistic decision without realizing the negative ramifications to those involved. Unilaterally wise, yet ultimately hurtful en masse." He spoke slowly, choosing words deliberately.

His vocabulary practically slapped her in the face, and Mary rested her head back against the chair while rubbing her forehead. This was not going well.

"Jesus Christ, Marshall," she hissed. "I really need you to speak English tonight. I have no idea what the fuck you're yelling at me about."

He turned to look at her, slightly puzzled. "I'm not yelling."

"Your words are," she replied softly.

Understanding dawned, and Marshall drew in a deep, irritated breath as he sat up to swing his feet onto the ground. She knew him well. Knew he upped the vernacular ante when his mood soured. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he reworded carefully. "Just like telling Raph what you did for a living, this decision needed to include me. Because it affects me. Because I'm emotionally invested. Because I'm your friend. You wanted to keep me out of it for reasons that make sense to you, but you can't exclude me from my own life. I have a right to have my say, Mary."

She opened her eyes to glare at him. "In the middle of the office? On a Thursday afternoon when we're fully staffed, with Howe and Marty inducting a new witness? That's a good time to have your say?" She stood suddenly. "Jesus, Marshall, I don't make good decisions when you've planned out the scenario for a week and I've had a chance to mull things over. At what point did putting me on the spot seem like a good idea?"

Marshall rolled his shoulders as she made a valid point, but he wasn't going be dragged into an argument about his motivations. Telling her that the vision of a strange man's hands on her had made him physically ill would only throw her into a diatribe about her body being her own damn business. They could take that trip down morality lane another time. As his gaze refocused on her, he realized he had taken too long to answer.

"You didn't plan for that to happen, did you?" Mary narrowed her eyes as she studied him, then turned to walk over to the edge of the pool. "Wow. I hint at plans for stress relief and your brain briefly excuses itself to have its say. That one got away from you, didn't it, Cowboy? Opened a can of worms neither of us was ready to wrangle." Her quiet bark of frustrated laughter was punctuated by the slam of the screen door two houses down. She muttered under her breath and dipped a toe into the water to watch the ripples. Finally spoke loud enough for him to hear again after a few minutes. "And to think, all of this could've been avoided if I had just kept my damn mouth shut."

Silence lingered around the pool along with the faint aroma of mesquite. Mary stared into the water and Marshall stared at her back. She heard him shift position before he spoke.

"We can debate the role of precipitating events within the space-time continuum another day, Mary." Marshall said softly, all humor lacking. "Despite your desire to continue to avoid addressing the changes in our relationship, and despite my unwillingness to unleash your wrath upon me when I choose to mention them, what was said was said, and what needs to be discussed now is not where we were, but where we're going."

She whirled on him. "Why? Why do we have to…ponder...expound…extrapolate…do one of your fancy words for 'pick it apart until it bleeds'? Why can't we just let it be? Let us be? Patch it up like new and ride it into the sunset as it is?"

Marshall stood and moved to stand within touching distance. He didn't touch her, but held her gaze. "Patches only hide what we don't want to see, and they don't hold for long." Mary crossed her arms and slid her eyes sideways. Defensive as he continued, "My cards, though prematurely played, are on the table, and now I'm calling your bluff. You can fold, and the game's over…you can continue to check and the players grow bored and fester…or you can see me and we'll play the next hand."

Trapped. And this time she couldn't run. No choice had a good outcome in her mind. Loss, in some form or the other, was the common denominator. Loss of the man standing in front of her. Loss of the only true friend she'd ever known. She could only envision herself sitting alone at the table, the detritus of the game strewn about her. The knuckles of one hand crept to her mouth as her gaze cast about the backyard in search of escape. She must have made some small sound of distress, because he was suddenly holding her arms and murmuring.

"Okay…okay…all right." Rubbing her arms slowly. "Climb down…take it easy."

"I can't…can't think…" Mary whispered disjointedly.

He felt the goosebumps on her arms. The push had come to shove, and he had to yank her back from the abyss before she was too far gone. Let her know she was still anchored. "This is not a decision you have to make…**we** have to make…tonight. Or tomorrow. But it's not something that's going to go away."

Mary stared at his chest. Swallowed and worried the inside of her bottom lip. "And until that time we make a decision…what are we?" Green eyes met blue with the question.

Marshall rested his hands on her shoulders. "Dented, dinged and rusting out slightly in spots. But I think the patches will hold for a bit…we'll muster through. But you have to promise me something."

Her sigh of relief was cut short and she stiffened. "What?"

"Call me next time you're sick. I don't want to learn from Stan that you face planted due to malnourishment and upset the office denizens."

"Jesus," Mary whispered ruefully, shaking her head in wry amusement. "Apparently, I need to leave larger horse heads in his bed to assure his silence."

Marshall chuckled and shrugged, "What can I say. I'm the favorite."

She tapped in him in the solar plexus just to hear him grunt.

* * *

***** Well, then, options are laid before her and I wonder what she'll do? Looks like Marshall is going to stick to his guns here. A little insight into them both for the other. Still liking it? Please REVIEW! *****


	4. road to nowhere

***** So, Mary's had some time to think...some time to decide. Riiiiight. A long drive, but arriving at a destination seems an impossible task. You're going to swear at someone! *****

* * *

_**I know you've heard it all before**_  
_**And everyone makes mistakes these days... hey nobody's perfect**_  
_**But the choices that you make may involve someone else.**_

_**- Choices, Ataris**_

* * *

"Why do we need chains?" Mary asked, alarmed, as she turned in her seat to stare at the LED sign set up by the highway patrol.

Marshall jerked his chin in the direction of the mountain range in the distance. "There's a storm over the Rockies. Shouldn't be more than rain once it gets to Denver, but we may be in for a bit of sloppy tomorrow in the passes."

"It's freaking September," Mary grumbled.

"End of September," he corrected automatically, "and Denver's first snowfall, on average, occurs by mid October. Of course, they can also have 70 degree days in October. The mountain range, though, can experience blizzard-like conditions as early as late August and passes have been known to shut down with some of the particularly bad Fall storms."

He fell silent, and the continued beat of the windshield wipers grated on Mary's nerves. It had been raining and cold for the last eight hours and the weather showed no signs of abating as they approached Denver. The whole trip grated on her nerves, in fact. Sighing peevishly, she flopped back into the passenger seat and crossed her arms over her chest.

"So, great," she grumbled again. "We'll probably get stuck in some pass with a bunch of other idiots and have to start eating each other to survive. I knew we should've brought Charlie."

Marshall was reminded of a conversation he had with the younger inspector a few days prior and rolled his eyes. He glanced at his scowling passenger before mumbling, "I'm thinking **Charlie** wouldn't be the first to go."

"What?" she snapped, attention refocused on him.

Marshall feigned innocence. "What? I like this song."

She looked at the radio. It wasn't on. "God, you're an idiot," she muttered, turning back to the sparse scenery. Marshall hummed to himself while Mary tried to doze. Failing miserably after a few miles, she turned back to her partner and assessed him. Quiet. Settled. She didn't like it.

"Did you know the Rocky Mountains are actually a series of mountain ranges? There's like 6 or something." Mary threw the information at him out of boredom.

Marshall looked at her with raised brows. "Trivia? From you? I may even say I'm impressed."

"Shut it," she snapped. "It was on the back of those crappy paper placemats at the crappy diner you stopped at in that crappy town about two hours ago. You seemed content to just sit there and enjoy the crappy view, so I had to do something to keep myself entertained."

Marshall noted the underlying whine with interest. She was trying to initiate some sort of conversation. Offering pieces of trivia as bait to see if he'd bite. He had pointedly avoided any discussions based on anything other than work-related topics, tour guide tidbits or his own views on the latest movies he'd seen. No deep or meaningful outlooks on life, no visceral arguments about witnesses or ethical dilemmas, nothing outside the normal chit-chat he would initiate with any co-worker or casual friend. It was hard, but he had resolved to remain outside the prior intimate circle of their partnership until Mary came to terms with her own wants and needs and stopped trying to pretend the elephant blended in with the décor. He had a feeling she had finally taken notice.

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed since the conversation at the poolside had put the ball into her court. Of course, she had offered no immediate response, and Marshall knew he would have to suck it up and wait her out…once again. But for how long? Even his patience had a limit.

"Jesus," she whined again, "how long is this god-forsaken drive?"

"The same length it always is," Marshall droned, a slight grin on his face. He saw no need to acquiesce.

"It never seemed this fucking long before." Mary fiddled with the air vents, trying to get some warmer air to blow onto her hands. They ached with the chill. Her head ached. She ached.

It had nothing to do with the weather, however; the reason for her discontent more than patterns on a map or measurable accumulations of fluid. She felt un-tethered. Somehow lost amongst the usual flow of give and take between her and her partner. He was there…physically present and interactive in all the appropriate ways, but there was just a piece of him – them – missing.

She had hoped the forced drive to Salt Lake for a clandestine witness swap would allow them time for their usual so-called counseling sessions, neither able to escape when the other pressed for information or encouraged some soul searching, but Marshall never ventured closer and her attempts to engage him only fell on deaf ears. Mary suspected the reason behind his behavior, but didn't want to think about it. She had ignored it for three weeks.

"Are you feeling all right?" Marshall asked, watching her fidget. "You're more out of sorts than usual for this sort of thing."

"**I'm** out of sorts?" she shot back. He looked at her expectantly and Mary tried to ignore the prompt, but failed. "Maybe I don't like having to play chauffeur to someone else's witness just because Stan doesn't think we have enough to do. Maybe I hate driving in the snow and I don't want to go to Denver. Maybe I really hate eating food that's sure to haunt me for three days because the cook pees in the soup. Maybe I'm on the rag." The last one was just to make him roll his eyes.

"No you're not," he sighed, checking the mirror to make a lane change.

Marshall felt Mary staring at him. Knew she had that look on her face when she was trying to figure something out.

He shot her an amused, sideways glance. "Six years, Mare. My very survival depends on me knowing things like that."

She narrowed her eyes. "A whole other discussion for a whole other day, nitwit."

Marshall shrugged a shoulder and returned his attention to the road. Mary stewed.

Ten miles. Twenty. She switched positions. Sighed…then sighed again. Decided to listen to her iPod, then switched it back off ten minutes later while mumbling curses at the play list. Marshall drove and noted the movements from his peripheral vision. Her increasing restlessness was distracting, but he was determined to let her make the opening move. Thirty miles.

"So, what's with you, anyway?" Mary suddenly asked. Marshall tried not to grin.

"'With me', how?"

She waved her hands at him ineffectually. "You just sit there. There's no never ending monologue of useless facts, no pithy analogies or lengthy history lessons…nothing. It's like riding in the car with a frickin' mime." She was studying him. "Are you sick? Are you mad? Are you thinking about the statistical highlights of the latest track results…what?"

"I'm not mad, I'm not sick, and the track is closed for the season. Do you want a history lesson?" he asked innocently.

Mary glared and drummed her fingers on her thigh. "So that's it, huh? I'm being punished, aren't I? That's pretty crappy."

Marshall pressed his lips together. Considered his answer carefully. "Since you're not a toddler, nor are you violating a penal code of any sort, I can confidently say that I'm not punishing you. What perceived reproof seems to be bothering you?"

"It's like working with…Stan, Marshall," Mary tried to explain after thinking for a minute. "We're synched up and ready to go in the office, but when you walk out that door at night, you're gone. I haven't seen you at my place, you haven't invited me to yours, my texts are ignored after ten…just this…void where my best friend used to be." She found herself having to bite back tears and turned to look out the side window.

Marshall winced in empathy. "It's not punitive, Mary. I want you to have the space and time that you need to think about our relationship. I've asked you to make a fairly significant decision, and I feel our previous level of…intimacy…would make it hard for you to see the whole thing clearly."

Despite his explanation, Mary still felt like a kid standing outside the candy shoppe. Everything she wanted was behind the glass, she knew exactly what was needed to acquire the treat, but was having a hard time making the commitment to buy. Even if she walked in and hung out for a while, immersed herself in the smells and small tastes she would wheedle out of the owner, nothing would ever truly be hers if she kept her pocket zipped up tight. But if she claimed ownership of any one piece, it wouldn't last. She'd consume it.

"It's not fair." The words jumped out of her mouth and she felt suddenly childish.

Marshall noted the churlish tone. "Not fair that you don't get what you want just because you want it? Or not fair that I'm holding you to a standard higher than you're used to?" he scolded.

Mary's head whipped around and she pinned him with a glare. "You really have no idea what you're asking me to do."

Her anger puzzled him slightly and he sought clarification. "Help me understand."

"You're asking me to ruin the one relationship I actually give a fuck about," she spat. "The one damn thing that's a constant in my fucked up life, and you want me to mess with it." Her hands were adjusting the vents again.

Change. He was asking her to initiate change. Mary's life had been full of too many changes that had lead to too many bad consequences. She lived a life caring for people who had change forced upon them, cleaning up the messes they brought with them due to choices they made, or that were made for them. A constant reminder of how little control one held over their own life. Their friendship was that one port in the storm that she could return to.

"Mary," he said softly, "our friendship is not one that will be torn asunder by your decision. I wouldn't ask you to do something that would endanger that. It would hurt me as much as it would hurt you. But relationships aren't a constant. They change…they hopefully grow. And **I'm** not a constant. Despite my best efforts, I find myself wanting something that leads me to take a stand and ask more of you."

It was a gentle reminder that her needs were not the sole basis of what they had between them. Reassurance of some level of commitment with a layer of warning that whispered of the inevitable. Marshall knew she wouldn't be forced. He wouldn't trick her with portents of false promise or ultimatums; just did what he always did and rubbed the grime away so she saw the situation clearly. Left her with all the facts, but robbed her of all excuses. Excuses she desperately wanted to cling to.

Mary rubbed her face and let her hands fall into her lap. The sign announcing their approach to Denver flashed by her window.

"If I hadn't taken Faber to Mexico, would we still be having this conversation?" The question almost surprised her.

Marshall sighed. They were back to assigning blame. The woman was maddening. "If you had come back from Mexico glowing from your newfound love, then no, we wouldn't. You'd be happy and I'd have my answer. But…I don't think that's what happened."

"No," she answered distractedly, thoughts on a distant beach. "He lasted a week. Developed a taste for the local fauna and I ejected his ass."

"I'm sure that went well," Marshall replied, hoping to prompt her for more of the story. He had been curious, but loath to ask. Wondered if the change of subject was unintentional, or if it was her announcement that the prior conversation was over.

Mary was silent for a few miles and Marshall assumed she had nothing more to say. The coffer was again full and she was going to sit with it and peruse the contents. He almost jumped when she spoke a few minutes later.

"Some people don't take rejection well. Behave badly." Mary chewed on a cuticle as she watched a distant skyline appear.

It was a simple statement loaded with more ammunition than should be legal. The implications, unfavorable comparisons and underlying pleas for contradiction rattled around in his brain. He smoothed his hands over the steering wheel as he considered his reply…if he should reply. He had lost track of her train of thought somewhere in the last ten minutes. Suspected she was somewhere between weighing options and imagining outcomes, but feared she was lost in the details.

"Mary," he called her and waited for her to glance at him. "Come back up to the surface and just ask yourself a simple question: What do you feel for me?" She dropped her eyes again. "You know me. You know what I can give you…what I will and won't do. I'm me. Not them…not him."

Too many emotions whirled through her with his words. Yearnings long buried again danced enticingly within reach, but her hands were slapped over and over if she reached for them. What he could give and what she could offer in return would only result in more pain. An emotional slap to the face that would sting infinitely more than the most recent physical one. What she wanted…what she felt…

Mary looked over at her lanky partner. She studied his profile in the fading light as he drove. Strong, steady, smart. Someone who challenged her and called her on her BS, and if he made her think any more she may develop some kind of cerebral hernia. His hands rested lightly on the wheel and she briefly considered how they would feel upon her. The thought provoked stirrings she would rather ignore, and Mary shifted in her seat. Her movements caused him to look over at her. Caught.

"I…" His eyes hoped for too much and she again fled. "I was wondering if we should call Stan. Let him know where we are."

Marshall looked away and stretched his neck. Sighed. "Sure."

They drove into Denver in wounded silence.

* * *

***** Oh. ouch. So. close...but how long is Marshall going to tolerate this song and dance number of avoidance? Mary will wear down eventually...won't she? Please REVIEW...you know I love REVIEWS :) Stay tuned...*****


	5. the price is not right

****** The road trip has too many twists and turns. No one really knows what it's about for a moment...and confusion leads to assumptions which lead to accusations...and, well, sometimes it just gets too hard to hang in there. *****

* * *

_**It's the elephant in the room  
And we pretend that we don't see it.  
It's the avalanche that looms above our heads.  
And we don't believe it.**_

_**Tryin' to be perfect**_  
_**Tryin' not to let you down...ooww**_  
_**Honesty is honestly the hardest thing for me right now...yeah**_  
_**while the floors underneath our feet are crumbling**_  
_**The walls we built together tumblin'**_  
_**I still stand here holdin' up the roof**_  
_**Cause it's easier than telling the truth.**_

_**- The Truth, Kris Allen**_

* * *

Teneya Johnson was young. Too young to be running for her life with a story so shocking it would force a grown man to gag. She sat on the foot of the bed and watched the two new marshals speak to the men who had protected her for a year. She knew she was going to a new city, but didn't know where. Knew the two newcomers would take her there.

Introductions were made, and Mary and Marshall took their charge in hand and made sure she was settled into the SUV with any initial comforts. Mary eased out of the parking lot, and the journey to Sacramento began.

Sacramento became San Francisco which then became San Jose. They spent the next 24 hours on the road between brief stops at IHOPs, motor inns and gas stations. Four Marshal offices and eight inspectors using all their skills to lay a false trail for the surprisingly adamant criminal element determined to find Teneya. Finally, Marshall received the word to hunker down at a local Super 8, and the weary trio dragged their bags into a real room.

Marshall checked the perimeter while Mary inspected the interior hallways and room set up. Ultimately satisfied, yet still too alert to relax, Mary shooed Marshall to his room and ordered Teneya into the shower.

"I'm awake," he argued, "I can take the first shift."

"You drove last," Mary replied. "I caught an hour or two on the way down. Sleep, Marshall, I'll wake you in four."

"Sooner if you have to," he offered, hovering in the doorway.

"Get out," she scolded with a grin. He blew her a cheeky kiss and she chuckled, warmed by the sentiment.

Mary sat in the dark two hours later and wondered what it would be like to have a real kiss. Wondered how his lips would feel against hers…his warmth wrapped around her. Wondered why thoughts of her partner were becoming increasingly…titillating.

The morning dawned clear, but cold, and Marshall went to wait outside for their relief as Mary helped Teneya gather her things. The young girl suddenly burst into tears and Mary sent up a prayer for patience.

"He said he would love me forever, Mary," Teneya sobbed, sitting on the edge of bed. "That I was the best thing that ever happened to him. Then he…then he…" she trailed off into sniffles.

"I'm really sorry," Mary offered, sitting next to her charge. "It's a story we hear a lot, and one I wish I could change."

Teneya wiped at her face and Mary handed her a tissue. "I don't mean to dump on you, you know, it's just this is really stressful." Mary rubbed her back as the girl tried to recover her composure.

"Why do guys say that?" Teneya asked. "Why do they promise you things, and make you believe it, then just turn around and rip your heart out when you make one little mistake?"

Mary thought of days spent crying over men who now didn't seem worth a single tear. "I don't know, Teneya. I wish I had that answer. Maybe they're just as confused as we are."

Teneya snorted. "I'm young, but I'm not completely stupid. He said he loved me so I would sleep with him. Made me believe I was special. I thought it was okay, that once we were together-together it would stick. He was going to leave me, you know, if I didn't, and I didn't want him to go. I loved him."

Mary stared at the carpet as the girl talked. Her words paralleled countless situations, but Mary's mind latched on to one in particular. She shook her head at her inner musings.

"He was my only friend, Mary," Teneya continued in a whisper. "My whole world and he just threw me to the wolves after he got what he wanted. What was I supposed to do?"

"You did what you had to do," Mary reassured her. "You did the right thing."

Mary clenched her teeth and beat down the insidious thoughts that tried to emerge. She was tired and stressed, and there was no way Teneya's story had anything to do with her and Marshall. Irritated with herself, she stood swiftly to gather belongings and opened the door to coax the girl into the hallway.

"It's a good lesson to learn, even the hard way, Teneya," Mary offered as they entered the hallway. "It's always the same thing…one little mistake and they're gone. Leave you high and dry and you wonder why the hell you spent the effort." She looked up to see Marshall headed their way with another inspector in tow. Her partner had an odd expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, checking their position.

His eyes flickered over to her, then back to the wall. "Nothing. We're ready to get her downstairs."

The witness' departure was celebrated with a depressing breakfast at a dingy restaurant. Neither partner had the energy to seek a better culinary experience, both wanting to head for home as soon as possible. They piled back into the SUV just as workday traffic began to take to the streets and debated the merits of taking the southern route back to Albuquerque. Route finally agreed upon, Marshall piloted them onto the freeway.

Mary sat and pondered her discussion with Teneya. She berated herself for even considering Marshall's motivations were anything but honest, but at this point she just felt as though she was grasping at straws. Hoping to silence the echoes of tears and dark thoughts, she curled up in the seat and allowed herself to drift into sleep.

Marshall again found himself watching Mary internally battle herself while he could only sit silently. He knew that look. Knew her thoughts were straying far afield, but just didn't have the energy to dive in. Her words in the hallway had struck painfully into his chest and he was having to wage his own emotional war. She was still comparing him and it hurt. He didn't know what she and Teneya had talked about, but somehow he knew the ideas now floating around in her head cast him in an unfavorable light.

Mary's soft snore drew his eyes back to her, and he couldn't resist reaching over to stroke a strand of her hair.

"I'm not them, Mare. Don't do that to me," he whispered.

/\\\/\\\/\\\

They had thought taking I-5 down to hook up with I-40 would avoid the weather related traffic problems prophesized had they crossed back over into Salt Lake. Unfortunately, three semi-trucks jostled a little too aggressively for position along the California-Arizona border, and after a three hour delay in the middle of nowhere, Marshall nixed the idea of making Flagstaff and hoped they would sight Kingman before dropping from exhaustion. They switched drivers after clearing the still smoldering wreckage and burning flares, and Mary's mind began to wander as rote driving habits took over.

Fold. Check. Call. Never in her life had she so wanted to grab her ante back out of the pot, just slink out the door and leave the game to those who actually had some idea of how to play. She hated poker…hated any game where decisions were forced by chance, and the wild cards made the whole damn game unpredictable and rife with potential failure. The only time she'd willingly wade into that situation is when she could suit up, have her Glock in her hand and her partner at her side.

Mary scratched her eyebrow and chuckled quietly as she realized Marshall would insist he **was** at her side while she played her hand. That he would remain there no matter her decision. It made little sense, and whenever she thought there was a glimpse of clarity, it disappeared or was contradicted before she could turn to truly study it.

Squaring her shoulders, Mary forced herself to step off the confusing pile of idiot conclusions and look at the situation rationally. If he wasn't leaving, then why was this decision so damned important? What actions was he planning to take if their relationship remained as it was? Why did he even want a relationship beyond friendship with her? Her?

He knew her relationships never turned out well. Knew she left behind a trail of broken and bleeding men who likely regretted the day they laid eyes on her. He'd seen the fantastic fuckups she could offload after the glamour wore off and they realized she was far more damaging than they could have ever imagined. The cowboys were supposed to remain just that…cowboys. The boots weren't supposed to come off, and the hats were tossed after them as they walked out the door. No one was supposed to get attached. She wasn't supposed to get attached. Lovers didn't turn into friends, and friends, God help them, were never allowed to become lovers. Tried that.

What did he think they would gain by taking their relationship to another level? He already had her trust and loyalty. She may not be the best at showing it, but she was pretty sure he knew he had her respect also. What more was there? Romance? Sex? The circle completed itself, and Mary stared over at his sleeping form with wary puzzlement. Tired neurons and reluctant emotions battled, leaving a mess of uncomfortable conclusions piled beneath her once again.

"Wake up, knucklehead," she prodded, poking him in the ribs. Hard.

"I'm not really asleep," he lied, scooting out of range, "and that hurts. What's up? Are we there?" The last word broke on an enormous yawn.

"What did you mean by 'the game's over' if I fold?" To the point.

Marshall rubbed his face vigorously and shifted in the seat to send the blood back to his rear end. "What?"

She sighed, irritated. "Turn on the lights, Van Winkle, it's a question you need to pay attention to." Waited for him to blink at her. "When you said the game would be over if I fold, what the hell did you mean?"

Clearing sleep induced cobwebs to the background music of grinding mental gears, Marshall quickly accessed his archive of their conversation at her pool. He had hoped to be on more stable cognitive footing when addressing this issue, but begging off now seemed like a bad idea.

"Okay, let me gather some coherent thoughts here, Mare. I wasn't really prepared for this tonight."

"I don't want prepared and fancy, Marshall. I just want to know what my…our…options are without having to wade through some metaphoric sludge. Don't try to make it sound pretty or give yourself some out…just talk." She gestured at him while changing lanes.

He took a deep breath and dove in, explaining yet again. "You know that I want to give us the opportunity to become…more…than partners and friends. Something deeper. Something I think you want too, but are reluctant to let yourself feel. Messy." Mary stared straight ahead at the road. Marshall waited a moment then opened his mouth to speak again when she finally responded.

"So you you're looking to hook up and spend mattress time in addition to desk time. Okay. I get that. But why? Why now, after almost six years of staring at each other every damn day? Did the sexual frustration become too much?" She continued to refuse to think about why he would want **her**.

Marshall sighed and rolled his head on his neck. "Mary, that's not what I'm saying. It's more than wanting to have a physical relationship with you. And it's not something I just woke up one morning deciding to want…it's not new…" He stumbled as the words weren't right and Mary's expression darkened.

"Great. You've been thinking about getting me naked for a while then?" she growled.

"You're deliberately misunderstanding me," he warned.

"I'm deliberately getting pissed that you're not answering the question," Mary shot back. "If I don't agree to doing this…deeper… thing with you, or if I don't decide anything at all, you're done? Gone? Hasta la bye-bye?" She glanced over at him with a shrug, becoming agitated. "Because you also said you wouldn't leave a while back while trying to breathe through a little tube, and I'm wondering how those two things make sense together."

Marshall wondered if he could bail from the truck with minimal injury. He was betting Mary had already had this conversation in her head, and that it had turned out badly. She was defensive and evasive and he was too tired to do damage control.

"You know," he placated her, "this is probably something to talk about tomorrow after we've both slept. And eaten. And had some coffee poured down our throats. We're rehashing the same thing over and over."

"Answer the damn question, asshole."

He was stalling, she knew, and it caused a small pit to open in her stomach. The exit sign for Kingman appeared, and Mary changed lanes while trying to keep her breathing under control.

"Somehow, I think you've already answered it for me. Yet again. And I'm pretty sure I'm not even allowed to know what the real question is at this point. All I'm going to end up doing is trying to convince you you're wrong until I have a headache," Marshall muttered, rubbing his forehead. Before she could retort, he turned to stare hard at her.

"I'm not leaving you. Not willingly, and not because of any decision you make regarding our relationship. You're stuck with me. Get that through your head." He studied her profile for any reaction. "Got it? Am I clear on that?"

Mary took the exit and followed the directions from the GPS towards the hotel. Marshall's irritated tone grated on her nerves.

"Then why do you care if I make this monumental decision regarding our relationship? What the hell? Do you just want some sort of verbal permission to sniff my tailpipe or something?"

"Do you really think this is just about sex?" he asked, disbelievingly. The headache had begun. "That I've reached some line on my partnership checklist that says 'bag her and tag her'? Can you really be incapable of seeing beyond that?"

"Maybe I am," she sneered, jerking her chin at him as she roughly maneuvered the car into the parking lot. Throwing the SUV into park, Mary put both hands on the steering wheel and turned to glare at Marshall. "Maybe that's all there is for me, Marshall. Maybe all your frou frou ideas of romance and love and goopy happiness are completely wasted on me. Quite possibly, I'm worried about you leaving because then who the hell will I pound into the mattress on a long witness transfer some day in the future because the cable's out?" She saw his face harden and knew she hit the right nerve.

_Don't take the bait, Mann_, he repeated to himself as he stared her down. He was tired, and she was on a mission to disturb him for some reason. Mary's mind was often that neighborhood you never wanted to drive through, even in broad daylight. A detour was required.

"If you don't want love and happiness, Mary, then don't choose that. I, however, plan to welcome that into my life at some point and will continue to seek it elsewhere." His words were soft, but deliberate, and Marshall slid out of the truck after delivering them.

Mary sat stunned for a moment. She had mistakenly believed her choice would provoke a physical absence, but now she understood. Marshall would remain with her, but he would live his life outside their partnership. Cultivate all the frou frou goodness she secretly enjoyed and offer it to another woman. Leave her to fend for herself in life. She suddenly scrambled to remove the keys from the ignition and launched herself out the door. Marshall had pulled the bags out of the back as was walking towards the lobby.

"Wait a minute, moron," she called, trotting to catch up to him. He kept walking and she grabbed his shoulder to halt his progress.

Marshall stutter-stepped and grunted as she pulled him off balance. "Dammit, Mary, I'm really too tired and pissed to have this conversation with you at all, much less in the parking lot."

Mary ignored him. "So this is like the fucking Price Is Right? I get the first bid, but if it's too high or not close enough another player wins the prize? Or maybe **you're** bidding? I'm the grand prize, but if you don't get me you'll go off to find some sloppy seconds?" Marshall had started walking away again after her first few sentences and she was yelling as she again followed.

He was up to the front desk by the time she caught him, opened her mouth to continue the argument and he glared at her while holding up one finger. "Don't. Say. A word."

His voice held steel and Mary held her tongue. The clerk watched them uneasily while checking them in and Mary crossed her arms and sighed loudly. Marshall took the keys from the young man and turned to regard her. He dropped her Go Bag on her feet.

"Here's your bag. Here's your key. If I see you before 7 a.m. it'll be too early. Good night, Mary."

She stared at him agape, then snapped her jaw shut before tossing a comment at his back as he walked to the elevators. "You know, maybe I'll just go down to the bar for a while. See what there is to see."

Marshall remained still for just long enough to make her slightly nervous. Slowly, he turned to look at her, face blank. "Maybe you should."

* * *

***** uh oh. Did he just...damn. Mary, you fool. You *know* that's not what it's about yet you demand a denial...or do you want a confirmation? Does she even know what she wants anymore? Please REVIEW if you have any answers! Help them! *****


	6. bar flies need a swatter

***** Oh, what a confused, exhausted and frustrated web they weave. Mary's been scolded and placed in time-out while Marshall nurses wounds he's all too familiar with. Who gives in first? Maybe it's just time to change tactics. *****

* * *

_**Realized I can never win**_  
_**Sometimes feel like I have failed**_  
_**Inside where do I begin?**_  
_**My mind is laughing at me**_

_**Tell me, why am I to blame?**_  
_**Aren't we supposed to be the same?**_  
_**That's why I will never tame**_  
_**This thing that's burning in me**_

_**I am the one who chose my path**_  
_**I am the one who couldn't last**_  
_**I feel the life pulled from me**_  
_**I feel the anger changing me**_

_**- I Did My Time, Korn**_

* * *

Mary had ridden the elevator up to her room in stunned silence after Marshall left her standing in the lobby. Left her. Directionless. Her ears had still been ringing from the quiet dismissal he had delivered when the elevator chime announced her floor, and she had to jam her arm into the closing doors before she was galvanized to exit.

Standing outside her room, she had stared at Marshall's door for a long minute. Why had pushing him away begun to hurt so badly when that was the desired result of the argument in the car in the first place? Or was it? She had wanted him to admit to wanting her, hadn't she? Wanted it to be simple. Wanted him to break down and confess to a knuckle dragging need to throw her into bed so that she could then crow in victory for being right. Be able to stare him down and proclaim a well articulated 'Ha! See?' and release her tired brain from having to defuse any more emotional landmines.

Unfortunately, she hadn't noticed she was already standing on one when she taunted him in that lobby. It had expectedly blown up in her face and now she was nursing wounds of shame and embarrassment. Mary keyed the lock with vigor and threw her bag onto the dresser in a fit of pique as Marshall's dismissal again curdled her gut. He wasn't supposed to give her that leave; wasn't supposed to look at her with sadness and anger and then turn his back. He was supposed to…

"What, Mary", she muttered to herself as she fell back onto the bed. "Beg you not to go? Pretend you didn't just insult him for ten miles while acting like a total bitch and just continue to treat you with kid gloves? Save you from yourself once again?"

Every previous attempt at self destruction was met with Marshall's focused gaze and sure efforts as he pieced her back together down the road. And she had taken a lot of roads over the years. Men he knew about and those he didn't. Witnesses, supervisors, other agents…No one had escaped her ability to make a situation more complicated than it needed to be in order to avoid perceived failure. She would rather emerge miserable, broken and surrounded by souls in torment than to accept an outcome outside of her own self imposed measure of success. Would rather sacrifice herself…and Marshall.

Failure was not an option. End of discussion. Period. If there was a solution that she deemed desirable, then that is what would occur. She would don the blinders, dig in her heels and refuse to be turned from her path to personal victory. She could not fail this test…fail Marshall. The problem was she didn't know what the right answers were.

Mary remembered Marshall once telling Brandi that failure should be viewed as a chance to grow…to change. That sometimes one needed to stumble in order to see the true path to enlightenment. She rolled her eyes as she realized she was now mixing Marshall's advice with that of characters in his movies. Pretty soon she'd be hallucinating men with robes trying to seduce her into a dangerous mission. Trying to convince her they needed her…that she was special.

She moaned in frustration, and it vibrated through her skull to set her teeth on edge. It was too quiet and the room felt too small; no place to hide from her internal demons. She was thinking herself into a corner again and the result would be a migraine unabated by meds or another confrontation with her partner. Mary wasn't sure which she dreaded the most. Chewing on her top lip, Mary decided the bar wasn't such a bad option after all. At least she had friends down there; Johnny and The Captain.

/\\\/\\\/\\\

Marshall eyed the mini-bar for the eightieth time in the last half hour. He was sure there was a spirit in there that would, if not soothe, at least blur the sharp edges of the overall ache that was consuming him. Headache. Heartache…soul ache. He was drowning. The riptide was now an undertow and he had to take some action in order to survive.

He was tired enough to doubt himself and his motivations. What if more primal needs **were** driving his quest for a relationship with Mary? The human animal was not meant to be alone; both biology and theology taught the theory with equal vigor, and Marshall had known from a young age that he would ultimately desire a mate. Was his male biological clock counting down to…what? Detonation? Flopping back to lay on the bed, he huffed a dry laugh at the thought. At the point he was making headway with the woman, he'd be lucky to get a whimper and a lame puff of smoke if the timer ever reached zero.

Counting mysterious burn marks in the tiles directly above him, Marshall slowly shook his head. No, he knew he desired Mary for the woman that she was. For the good, the bad and the ugly…but the ugly is what threw him off his game at the worst times. She was looking for a fight tonight. For reasons likely to remain unclear well into next week, she wanted him to give her some confirmation of carnal desire. Wanted him to admit to the need to scratch a physical itch that would be followed by a return to normal.

He wasn't sure what had prompted her to twist herself into that particular knot. It had never been an issue with them outside of friendly innuendos or the rare instances when duty demanded forced intimacy. Short lived and easily forgotten…for her. Marshall was sure every event would be imprinted in his mind forever. Had he stepped over some invisible line recently? Somehow conveyed the message that sex was on the menu? He raised a brow as he considered that possibly **she** was the one having thoughts that weren't particularly…friend-like. Found herself wanting more and didn't want to think about it too hard. She would fall back on her typical tactic of diverting blame, and as such, her drives became his. He became the aggressor and she could play wounded party. He swore at the ceiling as he remembered the aggravation from their confrontation in the parking lot.

And then to intimate that she was going to look for action at the bar? He was nearly certain his response to that was viewed as inflammatory, and Marshall wished he had been more in control of whatever reason he possessed at that moment. Her challenge was like waving a flag in front of a bull, especially after Faber, and Marshall could not think past the burning need to throw her over his knee for a good spanking. Smack some sense into her. Appropriate for the age she was acting. He had surprised her with indifference. The look of hurt and confusion that briefly crumpled her countenance had quickly been replaced by a glare, but he had seen it. She had expected him to protest; to voice his displeasure and possibly try to convince her to cease and desist, but he had just given her leave to do as she wished.

That could backfire with Mary and he knew it. Had tried reverse psychology on the woman once or twice and had ended up with both a bruised ego and a broken thumb. She could call a bluff like no other, often to her own misfortune, and he grunted in displeasure as he wondered if she considered his flippant response in the lobby a chance to rub his nose in his own mistake. Rolling off the bed to approach the adjoining room doors, Marshall knew he had to at least assure himself of her presence before turning in. He had heard her throw her things into the room earlier, but she'd been quiet since then.

A series of knocks garnered no reply, so he unlocked and opened the door to her room cautiously, using a trick an old thief had taught him long ago.

His eyes took in the scene as his blood boiled. She had changed clothes, and now she was gone. Gone to the bar. Gone to 'see what she could see'. It was suddenly too much, and he flared his nostrils in anger as he whirled back to his own room to grab his jacket. She was not going to pick up a cowboy as long as he had any say in it. Not this time. Not tonight.

He had tried words…had tried reasoning and intellect…had tried giving her a choice and allowing her space and time to deliberate it. She was not going to punish him by offering herself to another. Not going to use herself as a tool just to push him away so she could continue to practice her usual avoidance of life. The time to hide behind an innocent bystander had come to an end. This was about **them**. Screw the ocean…he was pulling the plug.

/\\\/\\\/\\\/\\\

Hotel bars always reminded Mary of Jinx. Snazzy, trendy outerwear that covered a poorly aging body which always smelled slightly of stale alcohol, cheap perfume and the musk of those who thought a drink in a strange town equated to moral ambivalence. The piano player looked bored, the bartender was overly made up and under dressed, and the patrons eyed every newcomer with the hopes that the evening would improve. Mary's trained eye easily picked out the townies from the guests, and she quickly catalogued exits and potential threats as she stalked over to a secluded barstool. It wasn't crowded, but there were enough voices to create a continuous hum of conversation.

The bar was slightly sticky, and she grimaced as she used the hem of her sleeve to rub away the mess. It took a few minutes to make eye contact with the bartender, but once the woman took her order the shot arrived quickly. Mary leaned on the wooden surface and slowly twirled the glass of amber liquid between her fingers as she again retreated into her own thoughts. Back at that mental poker game staring at her hand, and all she could see were aces over eights. Wild Bill was a lucky bastard, she decided. At least somebody shot him before he had to make a play.

She tossed back the shot and signaled for another. She shuddered as the whiskey sloughed off layers of her esophagus on its way to her stomach and she realized, for once, she didn't want the mask of alcohol to hide the dilemma. This dismal bar in the middle of a dismal state on the tail end of a dismal transfer somehow made her long for simplicity. Ache for someone to just line up the answers in block letters so she could finally choose the right words. A small voice from deep within told her to listen to her heart, but that was a dangerous proposition.

Though it was now not wanted, Mary toyed with the subsequent shot as vague memories of a conversation in a car on another road to nowhere nudged their way into her consciousness. Questions and answers about piles and purity. There was something significant there, she mused, some confession of intimacy…

The thought was rudely interrupted by a large man clumsily settling onto the stool next to her. He jostled her elbow and she spilled the shot onto the bar and her shirt.

"Goddammit," she hissed at him, "watch yourself, asswipe."

"Now, now, darlin'," the man slurred, ineffectually trying to help her clean up the spill. "No offense meant. Just thought I'd come over and sit next to a beautiful lady."

Mary rolled her eyes in disgust and pushed him away. "I got it. It's fine. Do yourself a favor and find another seat. That one's taken," she lied.

"Oh? By who?" the man teased with a leer.

Mary stared straight ahead. Cursed the universe for the multitude of idiots in it. "My foot in your ass if you don't fucking disappear."

The man laughed too loudly and bumped his knee against hers as she squeezed her eyes shut and wished for her sidearm. "I love a woman with sass. Feisty!" He put an arm around her shoulders and she tensed for the fight.

The man was jerked backward, pulling Mary with him, and she reached out to anchor herself. One hand on the bar and the other on…her partner's hip?

"Take your hands off her," Marshall growled at the man he now held in a tight wristlock, standing him on dancing tiptoes. "Go sit somewhere else." The man stuttered and wiggled and Marshall lowered his head until he was nose to nose. "At this moment, you can still walk. Can't promise you that in another minute." Menace dripped off every syllable.

Mary just stared in shock. The ruckus was minimal due to Marshall's skill, but to her it was the same as if he had started a brawl. Uncharacteristic, and she didn't have a response. She gathered her wits as he released the man, who disappeared quickly.

"Marshall, what the hell - " she was cut off as he grabbed her elbow and dragged her off the stool. "Hey!"

"You're a mess," he accused, anger plainly stamped on his face. "And you're leaving."

Mary struggled with him briefly and he readjusted his grip. He could barely see straight and she had the nerve to continue to fight him. Applying firm pressure with his thumb, he yanked her to him as she sucked in a breath. "You have no idea the kind of scene I can cause," he warned softly while he watched her assess his seriousness. He could smell the alcohol on her. "Do you want to keep pushing me?"

She had never had this directed at her before, and Mary quickly determined the wisest course of action was deference. His thumb rested on a pressure point, and unless she wanted a numb arm, she needed to just go along. At least until they got out of the bar.

Marshall stuffed all guilty thoughts of manhandling his partner deep into hiding and focused on his suppressed rage. He knew Mary was silently fuming, and suspected her compliance would be short lived. He was right. She lasted until they stood in front of the elevator.

"You can let go of my arm or nurse a broken wrist," she hissed, refusing to look at him. He remained silent and watched the numbers on the screen over the doors. "Marshall…" she warned.

The doors slid open as the car reached the lobby, and Marshall swiftly pushed Mary into the small space, releasing her as he did so. She wasn't going to run this time.

* * *

***** Woo! The can of worms has turned into a can of whoop-ass! Angry Marshall is not to be trifled with...hot damn. Trust me, Mary's plotting. Anyone think this will turn out well...anyone? Me either. Please, please REVIEW! Isn't angry Marshall fun? *****


	7. a tinderbox is less flammable

*****Oh...they're mad...mad mad mad. The insinuation and blame is flying...misunderstandings abound...fueled up and somebody's gonna light a match*****

*****Thank you to my friends who have read this chapter over and over and over so that I could get it right! *******_

* * *

_**

_**What causes you to act the way you do?**_  
_**What draws this anger up from the very soul?**_  
_**Are you as insane as the things that you do?**_  
_**This isn't the way it was meant to go**_  
_**I just cannot feel**_  
_**I just can't believe**_  
_**Are you insane?**_

_**- Derange, Detritus**_

* * *

The elevator was too small for their anger, and Marshall moved away from Mary quickly as the doors closed in order to avoid injury.

"We're only two floors up, moron, so you better be quick with an explanation for that stunt. And for the bruises I'll be sporting tomorrow," Mary demanded, hands on hips.

"Was that the best you could find in Kingman?" Marshall sneered, remaining on his side of the car. "Or were you so hot to trot you just picked the first thing that came along?"

"What?" she asked, slightly confused. His eyes raked her from head to toe and comprehension slowly dawned.

"Son of a bitch," she said, anger flaring. "You thought I was going to ride that? You thought I wanted that?" She gestured in the direction of the bar. "What? Did you come down to the bar to pre-screen my choices?"

Though his intent upon arrival was becoming clear, Marshall's motivation for journeying to the bar in the first place remained a mystery to her. He stood silently, arms crossed and staring at the buttons with focused intensity. Refused to answer. Mary stepped over to crowd him near the door.

"Sloppy barflies don't meet your approval? Don't want the local meat sweating all over me? Worried you'd catch something the next time I borrowed your sweatpants?" Mary fired accusations at him until he flinched and whipped his head around to glare at her.

"You reek of drunk, and your brain hasn't been firing on all cylinders since before we crossed the border." He leaned down threateningly. "And I'll be damned if I listen to you fuck some stranger tonight, Mary. No more."

The dark look coupled with the crude expletive spurred her on. "You sanctimonious fu -"

Her words were smothered by his hand as he covered her mouth and shot a meaningful glance towards the doors. Open now, without her notice. There was a family standing there.

Marshall grabbed her wrist, muttered an apology to the people entering the car, and rapidly strode towards the room with his partner in tow.

Mary pulled against him when he pulled out the key to his door. "I am not going to your room, asshole. Are you planning to watch me sleep?"

His brain could barely stand against the hurricane of emotions battering it. The woman he was currently wrestling reminded him of a speech he had given some time ago, and he hoped the mauling he was sure to incur would not leave permanent scars…on either of them. Thankfully, the door opened easily, and Marshall drug Mary through the portal to release her into the room.

She immediately whirled and shoved him. Hard. He stumbled back into the door, and the jangling chain lock was loud in his ear.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Mary barked.

Her brain just balked. He had really thought she had gone downstairs to pick up a man. Really thought she was dense enough to misunderstand what he had told her in the truck and was just going to blow off steam as if nothing…not Mexico, not Faber, not potential messes…meant a thing to her. The insanity of the whole situation drove her to pace.

Her command was fuel for his smoldering anger. A bruised and battered ego dragged up the conversation from earlier in the evening, and imagined visions from another hotel room weeks before haunted him.

"So, you had enough to drink to welcome a stranger's touch, but not enough for **mine** to be good enough?" he questioned softly, stealthily advancing towards her pacing form.

She flinched as his voice sounded near to her, and his question sent approaching rational thought fleeing back to its cave.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she flung back, stepping away and ridding herself of her jacket with a shrug and a jerk. "What sort of stupid pill did you take while I was downstairs to bring on this…caveman mentality? Jesus, Marshall, maybe **you** need a drink."

"Have to buy a bottle to catch up with you, apparently," he sneered. "And maybe, just maybe, I decided I was tired of cowboys, Mary. Tired of watching you pick option C just because you're too stubborn to think beyond the obvious and wonder what else there might be. Poor little girl who'd rather run and hide than put on her big girl panties and face up to the reality that nearly slaps her in the face day after day…after day."

He realized he was ranting and that she had stepped backwards while her eyes shone with anger. "Grow up, Mary. This isn't kindergarten, and I'm no longer amused by watching you chase the boys around the playground while you hope the one you really like will join the game."

The accusation and scolding hit home, and Mary's ire was momentarily pushed aside by shame and hurt. Called…and raised, and she now stood in the spotlight. He was growing tired of her stall tactics.

She looked down at the carpet and a whiff of alcohol reached her nose. She still smelled like a distillery. Marshall thought she was drunk. Thought her actions were driven by a liquored-up libido and her reasoning muddled. The deck of options shuffled ominously, and she looked up to step towards him.

"The one I really like?" she purred, reaching up to lay a hand on his chest with her new plan. "You want me to say I like you? That I want you?" She saw confusion flash across his face, but then his eyes darkened interestingly and her charade was encouraged. She placed another hand on his chest and leaned into him.

"You're tired of watching me with other men? You want me for you own? Is that why you brought me to your room?" Distraction.

Marshall's momentarily befuddled brain snapped to reason with her last statement and he pulled away to take both her wrists in his hands. He was tired. He was hungry. It was too late to try to make sense of her chaotic tactics but he at least recognized her left turn towards distraction.

"Stop it," he scolded, and pushed her away. "You need to sleep this off."

His grimace cut her to the core. Rejection, though expected due to circumstance, was still rejection, and Mary reacted with insult as that sliver of hurt slid under a nail. "Oh come on, Marshall. Why can't you just admit you want me in your bed? Just say it, for God's sake. You dance around with your flowery words and sickeningly sweet allusions so you don't have to admit to me and the world that you want to screw your partner. Stop pussyfooting around and pretending it's more than choosing top or bottom." The anger flooded back into Marshall's face as she raised her voice.

"Dammit, Mary," he replied, hands thrown in the air in frustration. "What is this? I can't keep up with the shit you're throwing at me here. You're ramped up and itching for a fight and my patience is just about at its end. I don't even know what this is about anymore. Us? You? Me?…the lack of room service?"

Mary launched. "It's about you not giving me a fucking straight answer, Marshall! I just want to know why! Why do things have to change? Why do I have to make this decision now…or at all? What is the god damned driving need behind this that's making you do this to me? I can't figure it out and it doesn't make any sense!" The pacing had begun again.

"I've told you what I want, Mary. I've answered your question in more ways than I thought I could. You're the one who refuses to look at herself and give **me** an answer. I can't come at this from any more angles." He watched her pace as he clenched his fists, breathed deeply as he tried to calm down.

Mary finally whirled around and marched up to stand nearly chest to chest. Her voice was low and angry, "All you've told me is that you want more. Well, there isn't any 'more', Marshall. I don't have a bag of tricks hidden away somewhere that I'm not showing you. This is it…it's all I've got, and it can't possibly be what you want. So, you see, I've been trying to figure out what you want that I haven't given you and it just comes down to one thing."

"You're wrong and you know it," he warned, refusing to even look at her. "You need to stop."

"Others thought they wanted more too, but really, all they needed was to get me out of their system. That's all they really wanted when it came down to it. You're just too fucking polite to come right out and ask for it." Her statement fell into silence.

It was the yet-again comparison to all the other men that sent him over that side of reason and into the churning waves. She lumped him into the realm of ordinary and poured salt on a wound that had been rubbed increasingly raw since Denver. He was not **them**. He would never be **them**. She needed to know the difference.

Marshall moved quickly, and Mary suddenly found herself pulled flush against her partner with his dark and angry eyes boring into hers and her wrists again bound by his hands; pulled behind her and trapped halfway up her back. The tiniest curl of fear tickled her gut as she realized she may have pushed too far.

"That's right, Mary," he growled, maneuvering her backwards as he spoke, "I'm just like all those other guys. 'Cause that's what you're hoping for, right? Just want this over with so you can retreat back into your emotional hole?"

"Marshall…" she murmured uncertainly, testing his grip. His strength surprised her slightly, even knowing him as she did. He gave her no quarter, and her shoulders ached as he steered her with her own limitations._ Oh, God, he's mad_, she thought

The wall met her back, and Marshall pressed forward to bodily pin her. He was warm and solid, and her body reacted with a spark of desire she did not expect. The anger roiled in his eyes and she couldn't look away. Blue became navy, and something…dark…briefly flared as he shifted his weight against her. Mary gasped. She needed to get away.

"Who do you want me to be, Mary?" he asked, repositioning her hands behind her back so he could grasp both wrists with one of his own. "If I'm going to get it out of my system, I want to do it right. Who's it gonna be? Eps…Faber? I don't want to disappoint you."

Mary struggled as he changed his grip, but her position gave her no obvious leverage. He'd stop this soon. He had to. His words made her wince, and she whispered "Stop it" as he said the names. He didn't seem to hear.

Her proximity only heightened his emotions, and Marshall worked his free hand up her back to slide into her hair and grasp it tightly, tilting her head back. "How's this? Am I doing it right? Is this who you think I am?" He tugged her head a little more and leaned in to place his mouth next to her ear to speak, voice low and menacing, "Is this what you think I want?"

The fear and desire had joined forces in her gut, and Mary felt nauseous with sensation. He smelled of aftershave, breath mints and that faint scent of dust that they both wore after a long, hard day, and as his hips pressed tightly against her belly she knew the encounter had affected him also. A soft moan escaped her lips; whether from need or pain, she didn't know.

His fist tightened in her hair, and when his breath caressed her neck she shivered. Squeezing her eyes shut and trying to ignore the ball of heat pooling in her groin, Mary concentrated on his words. She heard the anger and the hurt; felt her wrists throb from his grip and knew she had driven him down a road neither of them wanted to travel. Willing herself into stillness, she pressed into the wall. She was captured prey.

A small portion of his brain was surprised by her softness as he molded himself against her. Dips and curves that he had not experienced before awoke a prowling desire that howled to dictate his actions. Intimacy born of anger and lust forced by contact. Primal. Seductive. Her scent surrounded him as he leaned in to murmur into her ear, the redolence of femininity that had forced many a hand. He tightened his grip and breathed in deeply as he questioned her, "Is this what **you** want?"

The flash of heat was quickly extinguished by the rasp of his stubble on her cheek. The pleasure-pain of one-night stands and names long forgotten; memories of impulse and frustration that retreated more quickly than the first silver light of dawn as she slipped away from their beds.

No, this isn't what she wanted…not this…not at all. She didn't want rage and blame mixed with desire that would only betray them both. Didn't want a quick fuck up against the wall or a night of desperate, sweaty exertions on a strange bed. She wanted more. She wanted Marshall.

"No," she finally whispered, choked and tremulous.

Her whispered response was a barely audible plea, and reality washed over him like an icy wave as he raised his head to see her eyes shut in pained supplication. Trembling slightly with the effort to remain still, her breaths were shallow and he could see the pulse pounding in her exposed neck. Trapped. Afraid.

Marshall's stance and grip went from aggressive to protective within the moment. He released her wrists to tuck her head under his chin with both hands, gently stroking her hair as he leaned back to let her relax into him. He wasn't sure what words he murmured or the number of light kisses he peppered into her hair, he just knew there would be no way he could possibly ask her forgiveness for his actions. No way he could look at himself in the mirror and not feel shame.

"I'm so sorry…so sorry," he continued to whisper, gently stroking her head…back…arms…whatever he could reach with shaking hands. She offered no response. Just stood against him and breathed.

Mary kept her eyes shut as her partner attempted to soothe them both. Allowed his touch and words to settle her nerves as she berated herself for goading him into actions she knew he would agonize over for a long time. Hurt him again. She knew there would be little she could do to convince him of her own wrongdoing, but she could offer her own comfort. Slowly wrapping her arms around his waist, Mary held on tight as she felt his flinch. Reassured him.

"It's okay, Marshall. I'm fine. You're fine." Her fingers gripped and un-gripped his shirt. "Just some craziness, that's all."

"I hurt you." The words were almost a question.

"No, you didn't," she quickly replied, then pulled her head back to meet his eyes. His were bright with unshed tears and her own emotions tumbled.

"Don't," she warned, "We're both too close right now, and if you go there I'm going with you." Mary gently pulled away from his embrace, sliding along the wall and standing a few feet away with her arms wrapped around her waist. Cast her gaze about the room to avoid looking at him. "We were both equally involved in that…mess, and I don't think either of us can discuss it rationally right now. Let's just get some sleep and see how it looks in the morning."

Marshall blinked rapidly and rubbed his hand across his mouth. Stared at the dresser behind her as he tried to think. He didn't want her to leave, but if she stayed they'd only disintegrate into another argument. The atmosphere was thick with pain and blame, and the lingering presence of physical awareness ebbed around their ankles.

"Will you…can you," he fumbled words and ran his hand through his hair. "Can I ask you to leave the door open…just a crack?" He needed that connection, that reassurance that her trust had not been lost.

Mary understood. "Of course." She finally met his gaze for a long moment, then turned and slid through the adjoining door to her room.

* * *

*****Whimper*** **

*****That could've been...bad. One little crossed signal and they could've ended up somewhere else. I know some of you wanted them there...but they would've hated themselves. Things need to be resolved first. Please REVIEW to rate the battle! *****


	8. butterflies wear sparkly shoes

***** I can't imagine they're getting any sleep, and what is it going to take to get them to talk to each other? Is Mary going to keep running? So glad you're back to read more! *****

**

* * *

**

_**I know it's hard when you're down**_  
_**and the bad times seem to follow you around**_  
_**and they got no reason to show**_  
_**Don't let it go, oh no**_

_**and when it's 3 in the morn**_  
_**and you've told your whole life story to a telephone**_  
_**and the radio's the only thing to let you know**_  
_**You're not alone, oh no**_

_**Just have a little faith in me**_  
_**I'll have a little faith in you**_  
_**So have a little faith in me**_  
_**Don't let it go, oh no**_

_**And I wish I was there**_  
_**Just to run my own fingers through your worries and cares**_  
_**Even though I fumble and fall**_  
_**Don't let it go, oh no**_

_**Just have a little faith in me**_  
_**I'll have a little faith in you**_  
_**So have a little faith in me**_

_**Just be strong for me**_  
_**I'll be strong for you**_

_**- Have a Little Faith in Me, Michael Franti and the Spearheads**_

* * *

Mary sat straight up in the bed, heart pounding as she reflexively reached for her piece.

Breath held. Frozen. Rain suddenly pelted the window to her right and she flinched even as she recognized the sound. A flash of lightning permeated the inky blackness and her brain identified-sorted-catalogued the danger as psychological. Thunderstorm. Wind. Another peal of thunder rattled the picture on the flimsy wall separating her from the elements and Mary swore under her breath with indecision as the adrenaline shot leaked into her veins and left her shaken.

Any other storm and any other day, and she would've sought refuge in Marshall's room by the time the rumble of thunder could fade. Eyeing the door to the adjoining room, she could see a dim light through the small opening. Safety. The beacon of the presence of another breathing human being and promise of enough comfort to keep her from seeing shadows where there were none. But today wasn't any other day, and she wasn't sure the beacon wasn't a warning signal to stay away.

Indecision was stripped from her as the bluish light of the next lightning strike pushed through the curtains to freeze images on her retinas. Mary scooted out of the bed to skitter over to the cracked opening before the thunder could startle her. She traced the outline of the door with her fingertip as she counted the seconds.

One. Two. _Shit_, she thought as the sound descended. The storm was close. Using nature's exclamation point to her advantage, she quietly slipped into Marshall's room as the vibration filled the air and masked any sound of her entry.

The dim light emanated from the partially closed bathroom door and extended just barely to the doorway where she stood. Her eyes adjusted to register the empty bed. Gone? Her chest suddenly felt tight and she gripped the door as she silently searched the rest of the shadows. A flash, and her gaze snapped to the figure standing in front of the large picture window. Not gone.

One hand flat against the glass, the other shoved deep into his front pocket, Marshall leaned into the window and stared out at the storm. He was a dark form against a darker night; the energy of the storm seemingly flowing through the glass and into his being, setting him ethereally aglow at the edges. A lean and angular shadow in stark relief to the blurry and watery scene outside. Real. Here.

Purple bolts of lightning streaked through the clouds in the distance and Marshall shifted to pull his hand out of his pocket and raise it to the window. He traced the fading path of electricity silently on the glass as he muttered under his breath. His fingers followed the trail in a form of worship and she could not look away.

Hands that had held her immobile only hours before now danced lightly across the fragile glass, and Mary was again aware of the raw power harbored in his relaxed stance. A latent ferocity that was rarely unleashed. Deceptively benign. She felt a flutter of…Pride? Awe? Desire. She took a step towards him.

The next flash was blinding, and Mary jumped with a sharp exclamation as the bolt struck somewhere nearby. The air buzzed slightly and darkness enveloped them as the power cut out.

"_Mary_," Marshall gasped, turning to look for her, her utterance startling him as much as the sudden darkness startled her.

Pulse pounding, Mary reached blindly to set her hand back on the door. "Sorry. I just wanted to…um. I can go."

"No," he said, a little too loudly, then softened his tone, "No, that's okay. I was going to check on you in a minute anyway."

"That predictable, huh?" she asked with a grimace he couldn't see.

Marshall felt his way to his bag, rummaged around and found a small keychain flashlight. Mary snickered when he switched it on. "God, you are such a boy scout," she teased, silently thankful for the pinpoint of light.

"For which you are utterly grateful once you've realized I was right…once again," he retorted with a smile she could hear.

Another bright flash was nearly simultaneously accompanied by a loud crack, and Mary's frayed nerves balked. "Do you mind if I…?" She made a half-hearted gesture towards the bed, then sat at the foot before he could give permission as the wind rattled the window panes.

"I remember when I first figured out you were afraid of thunderstorms," Marshall recalled, sitting on the bed near the nightstand and positioning the flashlight so it shone onto the ceiling.

"I'm not afraid," Mary countered irritably. "They just make me feel…anxious."

"Uh huh," he snorted. "So anxious that I was wearing you like a sweater when the tornado sirens went off that day in Omaha."

"I would've been fine if you hadn't wanted to play Jim Cantore and stand out in the middle of it," Mary mumbled, and Marshall's soft chuckle faded into the matching timbre of thunder.

The rain continued to drum against the window, relenting slightly only to surge with a vengeance when the wind picked up again. Mary could feel the static electricity in the air and it only heightened the now uncomfortable silence between them. She wrapped one end of the tie on her sweatpants around her fingers as she listened to him breathe. Her thoughts raged with the storm, and too little sleep loosened her tongue.

"I didn't go down to the bar to hook up." Her voice seemed absorbed by the dark. "And I wasn't drunk. That idiot spilled my drink on me."

Marshall didn't know what to say. The last, long hours had been spent lying awake picking through the events of the evening that had lead up to his abominable actions. He had been trying to think of a way to apologize when the storm blew in, the distraction a welcome relief from his self flagellation.

So much of his rage and frustration had been channeled away by the seething chaos in the clouds that he felt somehow cleansed as he now sat staring at the pouring rain. Able to breathe again. Able to listen to stories in the dark.

His silence spurred her on. "I don't want you to apologize for any of it, Marshall. I should be grateful you didn't just beat some sense into me. I was…wrong. And, again, I'm the one who needs to apologize."

He stood to move closer, settling back onto the bed only a few feet away from her hunched over form. Almost reached to touch her, then checked himself to worry a pulled thread on the bedspread instead.

"I won't dispute your culpability in the whole situation," he began, "but I **will** apologize. I was far over the line, even for us. There's no excuse for having…handled you like that."

Mary softly snorted in rebuttal, "I've been manhandled before. Comes with the job."

"But not by me." He remembered feeling her test his grip. "I scared you."

She shifted positions with recall, hoping to quell a disturbing ache. "Not for the reasons you think," she murmured not-quite out loud.

They let the storm fill the silence again, neither able to completely assure the other that the appropriate salve had been applied to wounds. Mary knew his were deeper than hers, more painful due to their unexpected nature and directed intent, but hers just never seemed to heal. She recalled Marshall's words in the office and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as her stomach turned. It was time to pick at scabs and finally get the dirt out.

"I stopped wearing tutus and sparkly shoes before my eighth birthday because no matter how many times I twirled around and clicked my heels together, he never came back." She picked at a hangnail, the sting a welcome focus. "I guess you could say I was bitter by the time I was ten, and half-way through my twelfth year I came to the conclusion that the only Prince Charming I would ever see would have to be ordered through one of Jinx's magazines."

She winced as the cuticle began to bleed and stuck it in her mouth to suck on briefly. Marshall shifted slightly closer and the wind blew rain across the window pane. Mary blew on her wet finger as she continued.

"Your view of love and happily ever after is pretty much shot to hell after years of hearing your mother pound men into the mattress in the next room. You realize the end result is always the same; just shout a different name and maybe smoke a different brand. It was far from magical."

Marshall sat and rubbed his toes across the carpet as he stared at his knees. He didn't dare interrupt her, but he could barely stand to listen without wanting to be closer. Forays into her past were always fraught with pain, and this jaunt seemed certain to leave open wounds.

Mary sat up and rubbed her hands on her thighs. "I didn't know how it was supposed to work, Marshall. I didn't know the rules and I launched myself into relationships that I controlled like I had to control everything else. Bullied everyone into giving me what I wanted and got out when the getting was good. That's all I knew. The first time emotions were involved I went a little crazy. Married the guy. One extreme or the other, it seemed." She chuckled dryly. "Obviously, my efforts have been more planned out as I've aged, but the end result still hasn't changed. I still don't know the rules, and when my emotions are involved I still go a little crazy."

"It's _supposed_ to make you a little crazy, Mare," Marshall murmured, turning to look at her shadowed profile. "That's what makes you pay attention."

His soothing words didn't quell her shaking hands, and Mary's nerves remained exposed to the elements. Each flash of lighting shocked her, and she closed her eyes so she could continue. Talk instead of think. Stay instead of running yet again. She had spent the last dark hours tormenting herself with blame and doubt, and could no longer find any excuses to turn away from the truth.

"I've always wanted either some_thing_ or some_one_. I could pursue one without thinking about the consequences for the other. But now…now I find myself wanting _both_." Mary stumbled a bit on the last words and felt Marshall scoot a little closer. "Try as I might, I can't see how I can choose one without sacrificing the other." Her voice was just above a whisper.

She shouldn't sound so lost. "Why do you think you have to choose between the two, Mary?" He had no idea she was this torn. "I never meant for you to think that."

She worried the corner of her bottom lip as she gripped her knees tightly with both hands; holding on to courage…sanity…some anchor to the physical. "If I chose the something, the friendship and partnership, then I lose what I have of you. I lose that to someone else, and despite all my attempts to pretend that doesn't hurt…it does. And if I choose the someone, the messy, then it'll only be a matter of time before you find out that I'm like a black hole. Consuming everything that comes close in my attempts to control…measure up…I don't know. But it'll destroy us."

"Mary-" he pleaded, cut off as she continued quickly.

"No, Marshall. I won't do that to you. I can't. You mean more to me than anyone," her voice broke with the confession and she swallowed before continuing, "and you deserve someone who can be that 'more' you're looking for. You deserve happiness with a woman who's more than…damaged at best, and far short of being enough."

He could hear the tears in her voice despite her attempts to veil them in darkness and posture. Running his hand over his face in order to control his own emotions, Marshall watched her bowed head shine in yet another faded flash of light. The thunderstorm was moving on, leaving damage in its path.

Her admission furrowed his brow and twisted his gut. He doubted she had given voice to these demons before, only allowing them to dwell as silent foes in her mind while she outwardly wrestled physical torments to survive. He wondered if she knew what she had told him; what she had revealed by simply stating his rank within her world.

No longer able to remain distant, Marshall reached out to gently grasp a strand of her hair and wind it around his fingers. Mary's small intake of breath was the only acknowledgement she gave to his proximity.

"A caterpillar makes a cocoon from a single strand of silk. One thread that it uses to wrap 'round and 'round its body until nothing is seen and it's built an impenetrable wall to the outside world." He paced his words to tell a story. Slow and soothing.

Mary sniffled. "Oh my God, Marshall. Please don't tell me you've been sitting there pondering the life of a caterpillar." He could hear her grin, but knew there was a warning of seriousness.

Marshall hummed a short chuckle, fingers now coaxing additional strands of hair into his caress. "No. Pondering _your_ life. Thinking about the cocoon you've woven for yourself from that single strand of hurt and abandonment that's now your armor against every battle you fight. Battles against disappointment and disillusionment, against lost chances and chances you took that ended in pain."

"Marshall don't," she half-sobbed, ducking her head to remove her hair from his grasp, though he doubted it was the caress she objected to.

He allowed his hand to drop onto her shoulder, slowly trailed it down to find her forearm and let it rest; the light pressure of his fingers capturing her. "I've watched you maintain it over the years, watched it harden at times when things are bad, then become almost transparent once or twice when it seemed as though you might…emerge." His thumb slowly swept over the cool skin of her arm, feeling the goosebumps. "The caterpillar in the cocoon is incomplete, Mary. It hasn't become what it's supposed to be. Hasn't yet had enough time. It somehow knows that if it were to venture out too soon it would only flounder, fall…and die. No place to rest and gather strength. No place to hide."

Mary pressed her lips together as the tears fell faster. His words seduced her soul, and she didn't know if she had the strength to wrest it back this time.

"There's no butterfly in this cocoon," she whispered forcibly.

"There's always a butterfly," he murmured in reply.

The wind had died down and now the rain pattered against the window at a steady pace. Marshall's fingers caressed the soft hair on her arm, and the slow tracing patterns he drew were a tactile lullaby. She imagined the sight of the long, tanned digits wandering over her paler skin. Shivered.

"Mary," Marshall's voice cut through the silence without startling. "I'm not asking for more _from_ you. Not asking you to struggle to try to give me some part of yourself you think I want or relinquish some sort of control. I'm asking for more _of_ you. Take off the armor, unravel the threads, and let me give you a place of rest."

She stood slowly after a minute of silence, and Marshall maintained his gentle grip on her arm. "Don't run," he nearly begged.

Mary turned to step into him instead, standing between his knees as she brought her free hand up to trace his brow. Whisper soft. Trailed fingertips down the side of his face until she gently cupped his jaw and studied him in the almost-dark. Marshall briefly closed his eyes with the sensation, but again peered upward to watch her as she stilled.

"I don't understand you," she whispered. His hand on her arm slid down to rest on the outside of her thigh.

"I'm not like them," he replied.

Her newly freed hand briefly ran through his hair before capturing the other side of his face, and Marshall wanted to stop breathing in order to keep time from ticking forward.

His stubble was rough against her palms, and the slight friction translated directly into her belly. She could barely make out his features in the weak, watery glow of the flashlight across the room, but his eyes stared intently into hers and she could imagine the blue. Didn't need the light to see them.

"I'm afraid of thunderstorms." Her voice was tremulous as she traced his cheekbones with her thumbs. "I'm afraid of black holes, and I'm terrified of calling a hand that seems too good to be true."

She felt him smile, and his other hand came to rest on her hip. "Yet somehow, I no longer think you're going to fold," he said. Hope came in the form of a butterfly.

Mary felt warmer than she should and smiled crookedly as she leaned over to bring her face close to his. "No," she murmured. She kissed him lightly on the lips, lingered for a moment as his hands gripped her reflexively in return. Sighed. "I'm going to sleep."

Taking advantage of his surprise, she released him to step back out of his grasp and reached behind her until she felt the adjoining room's door before speaking. "I need to rest before you deal the next hand."

Marshall was sure the air in the room went with her as she ducked back through the door. His lungs refused to fill for a moment and he blinked into the dark. The sudden rattle of the fan as the power kicked back on made him jump and he laughed quietly at himself. Falling back onto the bed, Marshall stared up at the ceiling and smiled.

* * *

***** Did she agree? Holy cow! It's a good thing nature stepped up to the plate, and even a better thing that Marshall watches too much Discovery Channel :D So...did that meet satisfaction? Are they on the right track finally? Let me know...please REVIEW! *****


	9. standing close to the edge

***** Ah...my sincere apologies and mea culpas (which are the same thing but I like to say that phrase) for missing a day in the posting schedule. *sigh* I don't know it was the karate, dance, swimming, crazy people at work, death in the family, crazy kids or constantly running toilet that sent me over the edge, but the chapter wouldn't coalesce. Finally, the muses have cooperated and I present chapter 9...the final chapter.*****

***** Mary's made a choice, but where, exactly, does she stand? Marshall reminds her of the significance of the little things against the bigger picture. *****

***** I cannot thank my ladies enough! RJ, Roar and Dispatch...many hugs, cookies and whatever gifts I can cyberly fling your way! *****

* * *

_**I had no choice but to hear you**_  
_**You stated your case time and again**_  
_**I thought about it**_

_**You treat me like I'm a princess**_  
_**I'm not used to liking that**_  
_**You ask how my day was**_

_**You've already won me over in spite of me**_  
_**Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet**_  
_**And don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are**_  
_**I couldn't help it**_  
_**It's all your fault**_

_**You're the best listener that I've ever met**_  
_**You're my best friend**_  
_**Best friend with benefits**_  
_**What took me so long**_

_**I've never felt this healthy before**_  
_**I've never wanted something rational**_  
_**I am aware now**_  
_**I am aware now**_

_**- Head Over Feet, Alanis Morissette**_

* * *

Marshall's subconscious brain tried to incorporate the incessant buzzing into his dream. Crickets. No…motorcycles. Motorcycles with crickets on them. Hell's Angels in carapace riding down a freeway that seemed to defy gravity. The buzzing continued, and his rational brain tied it to reality. Alarm clock. No…cellphone.

He flopped an arm towards the nightstand, knocking over an empty glass and the flashlight until finally connecting with the offending object. Blindly brought it to his ear and grunted some form of greeting, uncaring as to identity, or species, of recipient.

Five minutes later, Marshall was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he cursed age, lack of sleep and the sadistic tendencies of his boss. Rising to a chorus of protesting ligaments, the tall man staggered towards the bathroom, careened off a doorjamb and cursed while fumbling for a light. He had to wake Mary. He needed protective gear.

Snippets of conversation and purple-hued memories flickered through his mind as he went about his abbreviated morning ritual. A small smile caused him to drool toothpaste, and Marshall felt it was a fitting picture for his state of mind. Rinsing his mouth, he settled his school-boy nerves and remembered that Mary and early, unscheduled morning witness emergencies went together about as well as Brussel sprouts and chocolate sauce. Somebody was going to get spat upon, and he needed to make sure it wasn't him.

/\\\/\\\

He prodded her still staggering form down the hallway about a half hour later, muttering encouragement to keep her moving. Promising breakfast delights when they reached the lobby.

"Who's coming from where?" Mary asked again, the cool hallway and bright lights finally coaxing her brain into real wakefulness.

"Harold Germaine Blanchard DeWitt III. From New York City. Today." He kept it short and sweet.

"Why?"

"Insider trading. Black market. Bad deals. Bang bang. People dead." Marshall answered with a smirk.

"Ass."

"It's a-_live_" he crowed and side stepped her halfhearted attempt to smack him.

Mary mentally sorted through the various physical aches and pains that came with sleeping for too little a time on too soft a mattress, pronounced herself sound, and switched gears to process Marshall's information from Stan, the approximate time of their drive and why the hell they were up at the ass crack of dawn.

"It's a seven hour drive, Marshall," she groaned, stabbing at the elevator button. "We could've left at a humane hour of the morning and still gotten home before the office closed." She picked at a persistent piece of sleep in the corner of her eye.

"Ah, yes," he hedged with a grimace. "The witness has a bit of…influence, with some of our higher ups. Wants us there by early afternoon so he can get a round in before dark."

Mary stilled, and Marshall quickly slipped through the opened elevators doors to drop the bags. She looked up at him with a glare. "Oh, hell no."

He reached through the doors to snag her lapels and pull her in with him. "Take a deep breath. It's too early in the morning to go nuclear. I'll buy you a drink afterwards…two drinks."

"Why do you wait to tell me these things until we're out the door?" she growled.

"I've seen you reenact Waco in a hotel room." He shuddered. "Better to get you out in the open first."

"Ass."

"You used that one already." He tried to keep a straight face as the doors opened to the lobby and he offered her egress.

Mary halted a few steps beyond the doors, inhaled deeply and turned back to him with a glower. "I don't smell coffee."

/\\\/\\\/\\\

"All right," she murmured from the passenger seat. "I take back one…just one…of the 'asses.'"

Marshall had driven to two 7-11s and one McDonalds before they found coffee fresh enough to be palatable, and now Mary sat hunkered in the seat with a steaming cup held snugly between her hands. The aroma of Arabica popping open a few more brain cells and a sinus passage or two.

Her thoughts drifted to ponder the long trip home, the turn of weather that had brought a chill wind and temperatures far below comfortable, and the events of the night prior. The latter flittering around the edges of her consciousness until she reluctantly allowed it to alight. Studied it in the graying dawn.

She still felt like she was sitting at the table; cards in hand and the stiff-soft feel of green velvet under her forearms. It was that moment before the players revealed what they held for all to see, and she just wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next.

Marshall watched her furrow her brow and pick at the sleeve on the coffee cup. She looked as tired as he felt and he knew his own earlier thoughts of the previous night were likely being entertained in her mind also. She was thinking before the sun was up, and he worried about second thoughts attached to second guesses.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he gently prodded.

She shot him a sideways glance. "Talk about what?" Mary fumbled with the bag containing her breakfast. Studiously smoothed a wrinkled napkin on her lap.

His breath caught for a moment as he worried she was going to purposely erase the events from her mind. They had come too far.

"Gee, I don't know," he hedged. "I remember a fight, a storm, stories…a kiss…" His voice trailed off as he noted her beginning to shred the edge of the napkin.

Mary noted the hesitancy in his voice; a slight defensiveness. "I think I did most of my talking last night. I'm just…unsure of what you…what I should…" She sighed heavily and leaned her elbow against the door. Scratched her nose as she chanced a glance at her partner. He looked tired.

"Are you changing your mind in the almost-light of day?" His heart sat somewhere in his stomach, poised to plunge further.

Mary shifted to look directly at him. "No. No, that's not it. And when have you ever known me to be wishy-washy?" He shrugged, seemingly chagrined, and she continued, "I'm just not sure what this looks like now. I don't know the rules, remember?"

Her gaze was full of uncertainty, and Marshall relaxed fractionally. He wouldn't rush her. Wouldn't put her in a position of stress where flight became an option. He wanted her to seek him in such times…not push him away.

"There're not really any rules, Mare," he said as he merged onto the highway. "No steps or instructions that you have to follow." He glanced over. "I'll continue to be your major source of information beyond the cereal box you read in the morning." She glared and he was encouraged. "You'll still be the one who feeds the witnesses their own asses when they screw up, and we'll continue to conquer the world one idiot at a time."

Mary sat back with a chuckle, nodding in agreement. "Okay, okay. I get it. Just go with the flow and try not to make it more complicated than it needs to be."

Marshall reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and caught her gaze. "It's just me." His fingers lingered on her neck. "It's just us." She smiled and dropped her eyes back to her breakfast.

"Now, eat your McMuffin and then catch a few more hours." He turned his attention back to the road to give her an emotional respite. "Shortened sleep cycles result in a lack of REM sleep. That results in lack of dreams, and that can lead to poor decision making and a feeling of general discombobulation until the body gets what it wants."

Mary unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite as she tried to interpret. Talked around the food. "If you think that means you can talk me out of my muffin due to my confused state, you're sorely mistaken."

"Technically, it's not a muffin - " He was cut off.

"Technically, it's mine, so I'll call it what I want. Keep your hands on your own side."

Marshall laughed as he piloted the truck towards Flagstaff.

/\\\/\\\/\\\

"This is definitely not Albuquerque," Mary mumbled as she stretched, eyeing the tall pine forest surrounding the small, packed dirt parking lot. No other cars were seen. "I can't imagine _you_ would be lost, so I'm assuming we've ventured out into the boonies for a reason?"

Marshall's gaze appreciated curves accentuated by her feline actions and he smiled slowly. "Stan called. Tee time has been moved back a few days. We can take our time."

"Oh hell, Marshall. I am _not_ camping," Mary warned, pulling her boots back on. "No way, no how."

"Relax," he drawled as he unfolded from the truck into the cold air. "I know better than to put you within close proximity of a tent. There just this thing I want to show you."

Mary stomped her feet and drew her jacket closer as she exited. She gave her partner a lascivious grin as he came around her side. "Wow. I haven't been propositioned on a lonely country road in a long time." She laughed as he blushed and gave her a reproachful look.

Marshall reached over and grabbed her hand to pull her towards the small path, the look in her eye a moment ago affecting him more than he cared to admit. "C'mon. We've got about a mile to walk."

"Oh my God," she fussed. "First we're up at the crack of dawn and now I have to frickin' exercise? This better be good, idiot."

Marshall grinned as he kept a brisk pace. Mary had laced her fingers through his despite her nearly continuous litany of complaints, and the warmth of her hand made him forget the chill. He recognized the large boulder near the end of the path and slowed in anticipation.

His parents had brought him and his brothers here nearly every year since he could remember. The same road. The same path. The same prize at the end. A pilgrimage that never needed to be explained, only beheld. He never grew tired of it, and it was time to share it with someone else.

"Okay, now you have to close your eyes." His smile was wide and bright and Mary was instantly wary.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Smug. "You have to experience it all at once."

Mary narrowed her eyes. "You said you were going to _show_ it to me. Now I have to _experience_ it? What the hell is going on?" She tried to tug her fingers free but he held on. "Dammit, Marshall, this better not be one of your 'alien landing site' adventures. That creeped the hell out of me."

Marshall stepped in close and grabbed her other hand. Waited for her to settle and look up at him.

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly.

Her irritation was replaced by an odd anticipation as she felt his body heat. There was a spark of delight in his eyes that she couldn't ignore, and her heart stutter-beat in a way she wasn't sure she was comfortable with.

This was part of it, she supposed. Part of this offering of self. Allowing him to share without ridicule or rejection. Her nose was cold and she shivered when the cold breeze snuck under her collar. He raised one eyebrow and she gave in with a sigh and a grin. Squeezed her eyes shut.

"Fine. But if you run me into a tree…" She let the threat linger in the air with their breaths.

Marshall led her by one hand while she used the other to cling to the back of his jacket. He checked over his shoulder frequently to make sure she wasn't peeking, and as they climbed the last small incline he repositioned her in front him with hands on her shoulders.

Mary felt the change in her surroundings. Felt the trees drop away behind them, but heard nothing to clue her in to where they had emerged.

"Just a little further, Mare, there you go," Marshall encouraged, finally halting her. "Okay…open your eyes."

Mary could hear the excitement in his voice, and as she opened her eyes all forms of speech escaped her.

She was standing on the edge of the Earth.

The depth of blue in the sky was reflected fathoms below by a thin strand of color wending its way through massive walls of rock and sand. Paintings and pictures could mimic color and texture, but no tangible piece of canvas and pigment could capture the vastness…the eternity. The nearly palpable stillness that settled into your bones as you could see nothing other than time rolled back before your eyes. Sounds and movements of the living, temporary creatures on the planet were insignificant against the monolithic rocks and expansive chasms that stood in testament of eons gone by. Authoritatively permanent and an awesome reminder of mortality.

"Wow," Mary whispered in awe, eyes slowly sweeping the vista before her. "Wow."

Marshall gazed at her fondly, remaining behind her to keep her from feeling vulnerable so close to the canyon wall. She was speechless for many minutes before the sound of worship fell from her lips, and he remembered similar reactions of so many through the years. Hands on her arms, he leaned in to murmur in her ear.

"It's 277 miles long, 18 miles wide at points and over a mile deep in some spots. Carved over a span of six million years by a single river." He exerted the barest amount of pressure on her arms to coax her towards him. "I remember you saying you've never seen it. That it would be silly to travel all that way just to see a hole in the ground."

She leaned back into him unconsciously, seeking contact due to self preservation as the earth ended only yards from her boots. Slowly gathered her wits as the cold wind whipped across the openness and stung her cheeks.

"I had no idea," she reverently stated, then huffed a short laugh a few minutes later. "I bet some poor settler shit his pants when he cleared those trees to see this."

Marshall laughed in her ear and she felt the vibration throughout her body. Felt his hands wrapped around her biceps and his hips pressed against her curves. Cocooned. But not by fear and uncertainty, or doubts centered upon the past. He held her secure as part of himself. Included. Wanted.

Mary tentatively reached up to capture his hands and guided them around her, allowing herself to rest her head back against his chest. Marshall willingly adjusted his stance to fully hold her to him, his soft purr her encouragement, his light kiss pressed to her temple his acceptance.

His eyes closed now, Marshall breathed deeply to embrace the smell of winter on the breeze. The storm had brought snow to the nearby peaks. His ears were cold, and the back of his neck needed a scarf, but the rest of him was almost overheated. Mary. Pressed against him from hip to chest; her arms pinning his own against her abdomen. He could think of no better way to view the Grand Canyon.

"So what do you think they did?" she asked suddenly. He opened his eyes to peer at the top of her head.

"Who?"

"Those settlers," she explained. "What do you think they did when faced with…that."

Marshall was quiet for a moment. "I guess they had to make a decision. Either find a way around and commit to their intended path, or go back. Hard to eke a living out of this soil."

"I'd go," she said softly a few minutes later. "I'd have to know what was on the other side. Otherwise…you'd always wonder."

Marshall studied her carefully. It wasn't normal for her to be so wistful; so contemplative. Something else was also on her mind. She shifted suddenly and he loosened his grip, but she only turned within the circle of his arms to drape her own arms over his shoulders.

"Hi," she breathed, eyes serious.

"Hi," he returned, tightening his arms slightly. She played with the hair on the back of his neck and his pulse rate shot up.

"I _have_ wondered, you know, occasionally, what it would be like to be with you." Mary watched his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. "Not like _that_…necessarily...just how something more would look…how we would look…oh, screw it." Her last statement was mumbled as she rose up on her toes to place her lips on his.

A jolt of surprise and then he was kissing her back. Softly. Slowly. A handful of jacket to hold her close while the other hand finally tangled in her hair. Her tongue flicked out to touch his bottom lip and he groaned. Again a cautious lick, then she pressed more firmly against him and he opened his mouth to hers. All thoughts of time and place were surrendered as their tongues met in mutual exploration. He matched her eagerness and she yielded to his finesse.

Marshall pulled back to nibble on her bottom lip and trail kisses over her jaw, finally settling on that ever tantalizing spot between mandible and ear lobe. Soft and sweet, and he lightly suckled her, hummed in pleasure at her gasp. Nipped her earlobe and smiled as she invoked a deity. She grabbed his hair to pull him back and stared at him with eyes blackened by desire.

"We're gonna need some rules, Cowboy," she purred, kissed him again until he tightened his grip with a moan. Pulled back. "Otherwise this is likely to turn into a free-for-all."

"Too cold. Too many clothes. And we're too close to the edge…literally." Each sentence was punctuated by a kiss to her lips, eyes, nose. "But I _have_ suddenly thought of some rules."

She was slightly distracted by his hands, which had found their way beneath her jacket to rest on the bare skin of her waist. When had he done that? Another kiss dropped onto her forehead pulled her attention back to his face.

"Rule number 1: You have to kiss me like that at least once a day," he informed her with mock seriousness.

"You're an idiot," she grinned, combing the hair away from his forehead. "But I think I can follow that one. What else?"

Her warm skin beneath his palms made coherent thought difficult. "Rule number 2: You must wear that lacy, purple bra under that low-cut blue sweater more often."

Mary slapped him on the chest with an indignant snort. "How long have you been looking down my shirt, pervis?"

He raised one eyebrow in rebuttal. "I'm a guy. And that sweater tends to…gape."

"Okay," she challenged. "Rule number 3: You have to give me a two hour head start on drinking before you bring over any of those Hobbit movies."

Marshall scowled, "Well, then, I counter with Rule number 4: You will not use, or attempt to use, the grill without supervision."

"One time," she mumbled and Marshall laughed.

A cloud moved in front of the sun, casting the rim of the canyon in shadow and eliciting shivers from the pair as they sobered. Mary held onto Marshall's lapels and studied his chin for a moment.

"Rule number 5," she said while raising her eyes to his. "No more running."

He moved his hands to cover hers and leaned in to kiss her softly. "It's time to rest."

* * *

***** Finally...she finally gives in. I don't know if any of you have seen the Grand Canyon from the north rim, but that's how it presents on many trails. You come out of the woods and it's just...there. Awe inspiring. I hope you enjoyed the journey...as angst-y and fight-y as it was. But, as always, I present you with a happy ending! Please let me know what you thought of the chapter...the story. REVIEW REVIEW! *****


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